


Death of the Heart Thief

by SquirrellyThief



Series: Short End [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Characters dealing with unresolved issues, M/M, The culmination of two character studies, There are other characters, like everyone gets a cameo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-07-03 15:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15821430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquirrellyThief/pseuds/SquirrellyThief
Summary: "When he comes to take his pound of flesh, he does not take it gently."900's investigation comes to a close.Connor cracks under the weight of his mission.Gavin's left with a bitter taste in his mouth not even bleach can fully wash out.





	1. Prologue: Herzdieb

**NOV. 02, 2039. 11:43:45**

 

Gavin leaned his hip against the counter, sipping his coffee. His eyes were starting to burn from lack of sleep, but he wasn’t ready to kick Connor to the curb just yet. The week had been hectic for both of them once Connor recruited him to look into the missing android cases he’d picked up. They spent their nights chasing dead leads and kicking in doors at all hours, even foregoing their coffee runs to make one more inquiry. Gain that extra little detail. It never amounted to much.

Not to mention, the sedate little morning was a dramatic improvement on lying in bed and just pretending to sleep, so Gavin called it a win.

Connor had half-assed his justification for coming over. Something about Anderson having an important but aggressively vague thing that day. Important enough to take time off and for Connor to not want to bother him by coming in once the night shift ended. Gavin could have called him out and said he could just stay at the office, but thought against it, shrugged it off, and offered up his couch for a couple hours.

Music wafted up to fill the silence so Gavin’s exhausted brain didn’t have to make conversation. Connor had admitted to wanting to know more about Gavin’s music tastes on the ride over anyway. Morning sunlight poured in through the open blinds, warming the cool air in the places it touched. Connor rested on the couch, his ankles propped up on one arm. Tobias, the old furball knew that the android was the warmest spot in the apartment right now and had curled up in a sleepy knot on Connor’s chest covering his sweater in fluff.

Gavin watched them for a long while; Connor staring at the ceiling, looking serious after he’d taken a few seconds to process each song that came on. Nothing seemed to particularly catch his attention as far as Gavin could tell. But what did he know? He took a deep breath, his eyes lingering closed for some temporary relief.

“You should go to bed, Gavin.” 

Gavin startled to alertness, nearly tipping over his coffee and having to hold on to the counter to avoid slipping and busting his ass. He turned and Connor was right next to him, holding his hands up in a placating gesture but laughing a little. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

“Yes you fuckin’ did.”

“Okay, maybe a little.” Connor confessed with a shrug. The seriousness returned quickly, “You’re asleep on your feet. Go to bed.”

“I’m fine,” Gavin grumbled into his mug, stubborn. He took a long, deep sip of the tepid, bitter stuff, but didn’t feel any more awake for it. His tolerance was getting dangerously high.

Connor shook his head. “Alright,” he conceded, “Whatever you say.” But he didn’t go back to the couch. He lingered just on the edge of Gavin’s space, close enough that Gavin could see the cat hairs stuck to his sweater. Around them, the song changed. After a second, Connor tipped his head, “I know this one.”

Gavin strained his ears to listen. He had his getting-ready playlist on and- Oh. Oh no. His face heated up and he tried to hide it behind another sip of his coffee.

“This is one of mine,” Connor accused.

“You don’t know that.”

Connor gave him a wry, skeptical look just as the vocals started up, damning Gavin wholly. “You don’t speak German.”

Gavin masked his embarrassment by staring daggers at the counter. He had no comeback for that. He’d taken three years of  _ French _ in high school and had retained a sum total of nothing. Hell, he barely spoke English that well half the time. Connor kept watching him, expectant, waiting for an explanation. Gavin cracked after only a few seconds. “It reminds me of you, okay? Is that what you wanna hear?”

Connor’s face softened. “No need to get so defensive.” He wrung his hands together, “It’s sort of a charming.”

For the span of a verse, Gavin genuinely thought spontaneous human combustion was possible and that he would be its next victim, right then and there. The burning in his eyes spread all over his face, up his ears, down his neck. 

“I really should go, though.” Connor was saying, “You have work tonight, I can’t keep you up forever.”

An extremely unhelpful part of Gavin’s mind suggested that he offer Connor a space in his bed. Connor wouldn’t have to go home, Gavin would get some sleep, everyone wins. He shook the thought off. Connor would say no and he knew that. There was no point in saying anything. He focused on the song for a second, forcing his head clear.

 

_...ganz leise und sacht... _

 

A hand on Gavin’s shoulder jostled him back to attention. Connor was watching him closely, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you having trouble sleeping again?” It was soft, gentle, barely more than a whisper. Gavin felt it on his skin and it chilled him,

“No more than usual.” he dumped the rest of his coffee into the sink.

Connor let go of his shoulder.

The android really needed to learn about personal space. He was standing so close now Gavin could see the frizz of his sweater where it caught stray sunlight so clearly he felt the phantom of it against his fingertips. He very seriously considered shoving Connor away, but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Alright, you win, fuck off. I’ll go to bed,” he started to wave Connor off.

Connor caught Gavin’s hand. The synthskin dropped to reveal the white plates and grey joints beneath. A line of nearly white blue demarcating the edge at his wrist. Gavin stopped short, words catching in his throat, staring at their hands

He couldn’t bring himself to look up.

Slowly, deliberately, Connor adjusted his grip until their fingers were almost aligned. Some part of Gavin’s sleep-deprived, shame-addled brain recognized the gesture. Markus and his girl had done this on the news before. Connor had called it something- memory sharing? It seemed a little silly in this context. Gavin had no circuitry to hook up to. Nothing to share.

There was a faint texture to Connor’s palm and fingertips with the synthskin gone. Gavin could feel it in the sensitive spaces; those soft creases of his joints where callouses couldn’t quite numb him to the outside world. It wasn’t quite a fingerprint, Gavin knew. More like a dull Velcro, or the no-slip grip of a good phone case.

Without thinking, Gavin laced their fingers together and pulled the back of Connor’s hand to his lips. He had no idea what he was hoping to accomplish with the gesture. Possibly nothing at all. The joints were a little more pliant than the firm plastic plates between them, but all of it was warm and smooth and nowhere near human. No tendons or bone to feel, no motion just below the skin. 

“I should go,” Connor said softly, leaning into Gavin’s space just a little more as he slowly retracted his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

When he backed up, Gavin felt the warm, comfortable thing that settled in the spaces of his chest go with him.

 

_ Denn ich weiß nicht _

 

Shame filled the gaps that comfort left behind. He should have expected this. “Yeah. See ya.”

He stayed at the counter, his head down staring at the patterns in his countertop until he heard the door open. When he looked up, Connor had glanced back at him. Gavin couldn’t pick out concern there. He couldn’t pick out anything at all. The only give away that Connor was thinking or feeling anything was the way his yellow LED washed out in the sunlight.

Gavin laughed awkwardly and cleared his throat. Connor shut the door.

_ Ob wir uns wiedersehen _


	2. Gavin

**NOV. 04, 2039. 03:42:47**

 

Connor was lighter than he looked; all that plastic and efficient lightweight metal offering considerably less bulk than flesh and blood and bone. Gavin, not expecting this, grossly overcompensated for the weight when hauling the android out of his car and very nearly lost his footing on the wet stone drive. It was comical in its way, how such a minor brush with failure rattled him and singed his frayed nerves even more.

A second attempt, and Gavin threw Connor over his back and kicked the door shut. He could feel Connor’s lingering warmth even through the layers of SWAT gear doing their damnedest to keep the rain out. Gavin soaked up as much comfort as he could from that warmth, he’d need to keep his head on straight for this.

The house Connor’s last instructions took him to wasn’t at all what he’d expected. A modernist little thing on the edge of a lake, the city skyline presumably in the distance. Long, shallow steps led up to the door. He wondered, briefly, if this was even the right place. Connor had sent him coordinates but his GPS cut out miles ago. 

His hands occupied, Gavin slammed a booted foot into the door with a force that might have kicked open any suburban house’s front door. He counted to five, then kicked it again. No answer. A deep breath that burned all the way down and his throat closed too much for shouting.He looked up, scanning for cameras, but if they were there, Gavin couldn’t see them in this darkness.

Gavin tried for a third kick but couldn’t get his balance. Adrenaline dissolving into a more generalized stress, leaching out the last of his energy. Anxiety piped up, noisy and unhelpful. What no one was home? He had nowhere left to go. Connor would shut down. This whole endeavor, the danger to his livelihood, the bridge he burned, the people he hurt, all of it would be for nothing. 

The door swung open. On the other side a young woman, blonde hair swept neatly to the side waved them in. She struck him as vaguely familiar in a way he couldn’t place. Gavin scrambled to obey, nearly collapsing into the cold foyer. It wasn’t until he heard the door shut that he noticed there wasn’t just one girl, there were three. All identical. All sporting LEDs. 

Gavin in hindsight would wonder why he was surprised.

“This way,” The one at the door took him by the sleeve and pulled him toward a door. The other two followed closely behind and she guided him through another door, down a hallway that vaguely reminded Gavin of one of those asylum-themed horror movies Lucas used to like so much. Another door into some kind of large, darkened storage room. Darkened shelves lined the walls, laden with black silhouettes of android parts, blocked out in places by boxes. A final door, and they were in some kind of workspace. A wide bench in the center, An hooked apparatus similar to the one Connor had been pulled out of just a few hours ago on Gavin’s right. A truly spectacular computer setup dominating the back wall. Two steps in and harsh white, fluorescent lights kicked on like a prolonged lighting strike that stung his eyes something awful after so long in the dark.

On the girl’s instruction, Gavin set Connor down on the work table. In the harsh light, Connor looked worse than Gavin had feared. His synthskin down in the places where they’d disconnected him; the right forearm, the left eye, no panels or parts either just black endoskeleton showing through. His LED dark at his temple. 

“Go get Elijah,” the girl he’d followed said to the other two as she rounded the bench and powered on the rest of the space. She looked Connor over, face passive and neutral. She put a hand over his chest, white and grey.

The other two did as they were told.

Gavin took a second to catch his breath, but even that was tainted with anxious thoughts of what was going to come  _ next _ . The phone calls he would have to make, the hunt that would ensue. The fallout.

When he looked up, the girl was frowning. Or she was trying to, but it was like her face couldn’t quite convey the emotion properly. “What?” Gavin asked. He sounded breathless even to himself. He tried to take a deep breath but the vest, his nerves, the dull ache that was creeping into his entire body,  _ something _ prevented it. He blinked around darkening vision, trying to remember how to breathe, commanding his body to do it. A heat, like summer sunshine, lit up the back of his neck and boiled his brain a little, despite the November rain soaking his clothes.

“His Thirium levels are critical,” she said, sounding a mile away. She tilted her head and prodded Connor enough to move him. “But I don’t see a leak.”

Maybe they drained him? Gavin had wanted to suggest it, but his mouth stopped working. He just made a quiet, affirmative little noise instead. He bent his knees a little and loosened the straps on his vest, but it offered little reprieve. The self-preserving part of himself suggested he sit down, but his body didn’t act on it.

“Who the fuck is- What happened to  _ him?” _

Gavin managed to turn a little without losing his balance. A man roughly Gavin’s age, joined them. Gavin had maybe an inch on him and a couple dozen pounds, though the latter was harder to gauge given that he was drowning in loose clothing; a college t-shirt and sweats. His blue eyes a half size too big behind large, dark-rimmed glasses, long sleep-rumpled hair obscuring his face a little.

The newcomer talked to the girl but the whole conversation was lost on Gavin. Like being underwater, his blood rushing in his ears. He managed to pick out a few words; offline, missing, unresponsive, nonsensical combinations of letters and numbers. He  _ really _ should sit down.

The man, presumably Elijah Kamski if Gavin had to wager a guess, though he looked almost nothing like the pictures, shot Gavin a derisive glance before hurrying to fetch something from his desk. A pair of dark gloves. He said something to the girl and she reached across the table, took Connor by the shoulder, and hauled him onto his side before Gavin could even think to help her.

Kamski touched something on Connor’s chest with his right hand, left hand braced against Connor’s side. There was a whirr, a rapid clicking sound, and a panel slid up letting a small fountain of blue splatter on the side of the table and over the edge onto the floor.

Gavin heard Kamski say, “Well, there’s your leak.” before the world went dark and silent.

* * *

 

Gavin woke to grey, dim light on an unfamiliar couch. He was on his back, staring at a dark, high ceiling struck with bands of shadow. The air was cool, but not unpleasant. He tried to take a tally of himself; his forehead was pounding, his eyes ached, there was was a dull throbbing on the back of his skull, a persistent, annoying burn in his left bicep that pulled when he flexed his arm. He felt hollowed out, his heart overworked, but alive and mostly functional. He forced himself up to a sitting position and his head swam as blood left it suddenly.

When his vision returned, Gavin surveyed his surroundings. A minimalist living room, all smooth dark floors and straight lines. A large bay window overlooking the lake filled the room with natural pre-dawn starlight. The main source of actual illumination coming from somewhere to his right. The harshness of the space was cut with plush white rugs and pops of color in the form of art pieces and little odds and ends strewn about with uncanny precision. The black couch Gavin had been set up on had siblings; a loveseat and a pair of armchairs. On the glass coffee table where his things; his vest, gun, keys, all in a neat little pile. To his right was an island separating the living room from a well-lit kitchen that looked to be brushed steel and black marble. It was less a home space and more an advertisement of wealth. The illusion of living.

In the kitchen, the android --or one of her doubles, Gavin couldn’t be sure even if he was on his A game-- was pouring some amber liquid from a fancy bottle into a pair of rocks glasses. It was too far away for him to see the label, but Gavin was willing to take whatever was offered if it meant getting a drink in him. She looked up briefly as she closed the bottle and stashed it away. “Detective Reed,” she said, cheery, “You look much better.”

Gavin rubbed the throbbing spot on the back of his head and felt a knot there. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” she said, coming around the island and setting the glass on the coffee table for him. “You’re dehydrated and your blood sugar is a little low, but otherwise you seem in good health.”

“Uh huh,” Gavin took the glass and examined it. “And Connor?” he had to force himself not to sound desperate, “How is he?”

“Elijah’s still working on him. You can ask him when he comes out.”

Gavin hummed, he didn’t like that answer, but supposed he had no choice. He took a tentative sip from the glass. He hesitated when it was close enough to smell; sweet, fruity, not at all what he’d expected. He tasted it, letting just enough touch his lips to confirm his suspicions. Not alcohol at all, just bougie apple juice. With a shrug he downed a mouthful.

“How’s your arm feeling?” The girl asked.

Gavin looked at the spot where his left bicep had decided to start a fire. A wide, brown strip of Coban held a smooth piece of gauze in place. He moved his arm a little and something pulled in a familiar way. Stitches. The grazing shot he took back at the tower must have cut him deeper than he thought. He’d hardly felt it at the time. “It’s alright,” he said. “Nothing I can’t handle. Thanks, uh-” He looked up at the girl helplessly.

“Chloe,” she offered.

That’s when it hit him. He thought she’d looked familiar; she’d been all over the news when he was a younger.  _ Android passes Turing Test _ . “Thanks, Chloe.”

She nodded and smiled, but it was that forced, awkward little thing Connor sometimes did when he knew smiling was appropriate but not sure of the why. Almost a sneer, but not quite. “Of course.”

Gavin wrestled down the urge to pepper her with questions and instead contented himself with nursing his drink and letting his body wake up and get itself in working order. This whole thing was a new level of bizarre. He’d known that Connor knew Kamski, but he’d never considered the man to be an option when searching for safe harbor. 

A part of him, when he really bothered to think about it, had honestly been expecting to be turned away at the door. With or without Connor being tended to. He was surprised, in all honesty, that they didn’t throw him out.

Without thinking, Gavin reached into his pocket expecting to find his phone. A surge or irrational panic when it wasn’t there or on the table that ebbed when he remembered it was probably still in its holster on the dashboard of his car outside. “Hey, uh- Chloe?”

“Yes?”

“What time is it?”

“Six forty-five.”

Gavin panicked.

_ Six? _ That meant he’d been out for hours. He had shit to do, tracks to cover. Phone calls to make. The sun had risen and he still didn’t know if Anderson and the android got out alright in the wake of their little heist. Gavin scrambled, starting to get up. “I need to get my-”

Chloe stopped him with a hand on his arm, staring him down until he sat again. She hurried into the kitchen and came back out with a familiar little black rectangle. “I brought it in when we moved your car out of view of the road. Connor had a tracker in him, we had to make sure you didn’t have any on you too.” She handed him his phone, “I charged it for you.”

“Thanks,” was all Gavin could get himself to say, staring at her numbly for a second. He traded her his empty glass for the phone and she wandered back into the kitchen.

He didn’t see any new notifications, and when he unlocked his phone he understood why.  _ No service, no wifi, no GPS connection. _ He’d stepped into a horror cliché. Lovely. “Do you guys always have spotty service out here?” He grumbled.

“Only when someone randomly shows up with a broken android,” a voice that was very much not Chloe’s answered.

“Ah!” Gavin jumped, fumbled his phone, and wound up dropping it on the coffee table with a loud clang. “Jesus fucking Christ, man. Warn a guy.”

Kamski had changed dramatically since that brief glance Gavin had given him the night before. His hair slicked back and up into a tight ponytail, showing off a harsh and striking bone structure. He’d traded his t-shirt for a silky-looking button up and undershirt, both black, his glasses hooked into the collar of the undershirt. He still had the grey sweats on but they looked more expensive than Gavin’s entire wardrobe of thrift store fodder could ever hope to be. In this light, all done up and prepared, he looked like some sort of monster. The stuff of circulating creepypastas. Like that smirk on his face would open up to reveal impossible rows of teeth and endless black void. A cryptid with a human shape that looked at Gavin in a way that made some small, irrational part of his brain worry that his heart was on the breakfast menu.

Chloe returned with his refill and a second glass for Kamski and it broke the tension a little. She handed the second glass to Kamski and he smiled fondly at her in thanks. He took a sip and fondness immediately turned into a scowl of betrayal. She hissed something to him that Gavin thought sounded like: “It’s not even seven, Elijah,” but couldn’t be certain.

“How’s Connor?” Gavin finally got up the courage to say. He had to know. Even if not knowing meant not having to accept failure yet. He’d come all this way, and if anyone could help it would Kamski. The man invented androids, surely he could fix a prototype.

Right?

“He’s doing a hard reboot. He might lose a day’s worth of memory, and many of his systems are offline, but he’ll be functional in a few hours,” Kamski said, sounding bored by the whole affair. “I’ll have to build some pieces from scratch; that’s the trouble with prototypes. All the important shit’s new.” He took a sip from his glass, his eye twitching just the slightest amount. “Now, my turn: what the fuck happened?”

“That’s classified.”

Kamski raised his eyebrows and stared daggers down at him. “Well, then I suppose I can just go back to my workshop and unhook your android instead of straining my system running scans and getting him back online.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Your silence implies  _ you  _ did this. I will not release such a marvellous piece of equipment into the hands of a man that does not appreciate it.”

Gavin nearly came up out of his spot on the couch, but checked himself. He ground his teeth and clenched his fists on either side of the couch. “I didn’t do this,” he growled.

“Then who did? You want your android back, you tell me what happened to him and why you brought tracking devices into my home at an unholy hour of the night.”

Kamski sure knew how to play hardball. Maybe he was bluffing? Gavin wasn’t sure he wanted to gamble with that. Connor didn’t talk about his meeting with Kamski last year but the few times it came up seemed to make him uncomfortable and Gavin wasn’t keen on finding out why right here and now. He sighed, what was the harm in telling him? Kamski was a known recluse and even if he wasn’t what would he do? Rat himself out to his own company for helping a bunch of thieves and an alleged felon? 

“It’s a long story,” Gavin said eventually. “Short version: CyberLife wrecked him.”

Kamski tilted his head, scowling, then settled into one of the armchairs.

Gavin considered getting up, grabbing his shit and leaving. If Kamski really wanted all this information, he could get it from Connor. Hell, Connor probably knew more than Gavin did anyway. But the idea of getting up and leaving left an awful taste in his mouth he couldn’t wash away. Chloe took up the other armchair, folding one leg under her and looking at him expectantly.. Hers was a much more persuasive look than her cohort’s. Something about the childlike innocence of it reminded him of Jade in an uncomfortable way.

In the end, Gavin justified his decision with the theory that the more Kamski knew, the more help he could potentially offer everyone involved. If he ended up inclined to do so. “Long version is, well,” He drained the glass and set it on the table, digging his thumbnail into his phone case and trying to think of how to phrase it. “When I showed up at the precinct last night, Connor’s partner, Lieutenant Anderson, told me that Connor had been arrested.”

Kamski leaned forward in his chair.

“They’d called him terrorist and took him back to CyberLife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rough draft still isn't finished so updates will be sporadic, I apologize in advance.


	3. Connor

**NOV. 03, 2039. 15:25:53**

 

He was buried. Connor never thought, never even toyed with the idea, that he would find an amount of work that would overwhelm him, but here he was. He scrolled through the newest roster of missing androids. All out of contact with Jericho, no places of residence listed. All different models, colorings, dates of manufacture, and past ownership. They had increasingly little in common as the list grew and Connor was clutching at straws.

The first several, that had started back in June, had the common thread of being in desperate need of repairs and going to the new CyberLife clinics for them. Connor had dragged Hank to all five in the city and each investigation yielded nothing. The androids on staff had no recollection, even when probed, of seeing these missing androids. The storerooms, and back-of-shop repair decks yielded no parts or Thirium traces specific to them. 

The storefront security cameras also minimal footage of substance. He caught the androids entering and leaving the stores at reasonable times. He followed trails through security feeds for blocks, and, once, for miles, until Hank was left waiting breathless three streets back and he hit a blind spot and the trail finally went cold.

He didn’t get that lucky again.

Markus offered what little help he could from the other side of the country. He’d sent North back before the pair had even reached Atlanta. He was reluctant to leave himself, trusting that Detroit was in good hands with his inner circle while he tended to the next huge phase of his revolution. A protest where hostilities were still at their worst, where androids were still seen as threats to livelihoods. He was determined to not let the situation in Detroit derail him, but Connor could hear his mounting concern with every call and every question Connor lacked answers for.

Simon, acting Jericho leader in Markus’s absence, gave Connor carte blanche in his investigation. No information was off-limits to him if he needed it. Serial numbers, histories, the names and addresses of previous owners, last known locations, the contact information of friends and allies of the missing. Connor questioned them all. North rallied a team to go poking around in the places Connor couldn’t reasonably go without compromising the safety of Jericho, but she had yet to turn up any information he couldn’t find on his own.

Connor dropped everything else. Even the cases he was working with Hank fell to the wayside. The only times he even left the office were when Hank took sick days, his hour-long coffee runs with Gavin, to chase down dead leads, or when Fowler reminded him that android labor laws were a thing now and he risked getting other people in trouble with his work ethic. To circumvent that last one, Connor just brought his work home with him.

“Connor.”

Connor snapped his head toward the voice. Perkins was approaching his desk, hands in his pockets, looking smug as ever. A few steps behind him, was RK-900. This was the first time he’d seen the android since the incident in May and it had hardly changed a bit in half a year’s time. Still straight-backed and neutral of expression, dressed in CyberLife standard. Its hands were folded behind its back. Connor felt something in him snap off at the sight of it. Spinning and spinning.

INTERNAL STRESS: 66%

“Yes, Agent Perkins?” Connor forced himself into standard politeness even though everything was telling him that would result in failure. “Can I help you?”

“You need to come with us.” Perkins said, gesturing for Connor to get up and follow him.

“No.” It was a reflex, like deflecting a projectile.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

Hank chimed in, “The fuck he doesn’t.” He rolled his chair to the shared sidearm of their desks. “What the fuck are you doin’ here? I thought you were told to get gone.”

“I’m doing my job,  _ Lieutenant _ ,” Perkins spit. “Watch and you might learn something.”

Hank started to get up out of his chair. Perkins ignored him.

RK-900 stepped around Perkins, up to Connor’s desk, stopping everyone cold. Connor inched away, not even realizing he was doing so until his chair was stopped by the desk’s edge. “RK800 model 313-248-317, installment 51, you are under arrest.” it said, loud enough that conversations at neighboring desks stalled into silence, all eyes focusing on the exchange. “You are to return to CyberLife headquarters immediately.”

INTERNAL STRESS: 75%

For some reason Connor’s voice wasn’t kicking on.

Hank spoke for him, matching RK-900 for volume. “Bullshit! Under arrest for  _ what? _ Connor’s done nothing wrong.”

The precinct was busy at this hour, officers interviewing civilians at their desks, people bringing in and taking out information. People who didn’t know Connor. People who didn’t know the context of this exchange. He glanced at Gavin’s desk, but it was empty. Of course it was. Gavin wasn’t supposed to come in for his shift for hours. Tina caught his eye. So did Chris when he glanced that way. But neither offered the comfort he craved. Hank’s presence, his offense on Connor’s behalf, kept him grounded, but his stress level couldn't go back down from where it had climbed.

When Connor looked, 900 was staring him down. His chest rattled, shaking all neighboring parts. This wasn’t stress. No, this was errors and danger and threats.  _ Fear _ . Real fear. Something unknown, something terrible was going to happen to him.

“Domestic terrorism,” 900 listed off, “the murders of two CyberLife employees. Grand theft," and he just kept going, increasing with specificity as the list dragged on and on. It was like watching a car speed toward him on the freeway, too fast and too close to stop. Around them, faces paled, eyes widened, mouths hung open in aghast outrage. 

INTERNAL STRESS: 85%

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

TERMINAL ERROR

RESETTING PROTOCOL…

Hank was talking over the android, he barked at Perkins to make it stop. Perkins rounded on him, ready to pick a fight. 

900 stopped on his own. Whispers erupted all around them until everything was just noise. “They let him work here?” “He’s killed people?” “He doesn’t have a weapon  does he?” “Figures they let a terrorist work for-”

PROTOCOL RESET.

“Stop.” Connor said, loud enough to get everyone’s attention again. He held up his hands and rose from his chair. “Stop,” He repeated, quieter, “I’ll go quietly just- stop making a scene.”

Hank took him by the arm and nearly hauled him over the desk to protect him. “Connor, no.” he hissed, leaning in close, “You don’t know what they’ll do to you.”

Connor pulled his arm back and it stung like a short in the cabling where Hank had held onto him. “I can’t resist arrest in front of all these people, Hank,” he whispered back, “How do you think that’s gonna play out?”

Hank looked around them and grimaced. He shook his head and when he stopped he focused on Perkins, “Don’t think you can get away with this shit,” he threatened, “These are trumped up charges and you know it. “

Perkins sneered at him, “Fuckin’ watch me.”

900 stepped aside long enough for Connor to get around his desk. Connor glanced back at Hank long enough to see him mouth, _we'll get you back_ , at him. But kept his eyes forward once they made it to the front desk and the pair escorted him out of the building, one on either side of him.

**> > Establish Connection: RT600**

CONNECTION SUCCESSFUL 

**> >Send Message: Arrested by 900. Unsure what they’ll find. Warn Simon.**

MESSAGE SENT

Once he got the confirmation, Connor started purging files, letting Perkins and 900 guide him on his blind walk back to their car. He deleted the incriminating things: CyberLife Tower, the rally, his last time in the Zen Garden and its backdoor, the missing android cases, the way he manipulated the system to help Jericho. By the time he was none-too-gently pushed into a rental autocar, the big pieces were gone.

“Delete whatever you want, Connor, it won’t matter,” 900 said as it sat primly across from him.

Connor saw a flash of confusion across Perkins face and took some measure of comfort in it. “Why take me in, then, if not for my memories?”

900 reached across the cramped space of the car, placing his hand on Connor’s forearm despite Connor’s best attempts to get away. It held him in a tight grip, tugging him forward and leaning in until they were nearly touching, “ _ Because sometimes, Connor _ ,” it said through the hardline connection instead of out loud where Perkins can hear, “ _ The answers you need come from ahead, not behind. _ ”

Connor saw a timer count down from five and nothing he did could stop it from booting him back into the black and grey grid of an offline mind palace.

**> >Reboot System**

REBOOTING…

SYSTEM REBOOT: FAILED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN. IF ERRORS PERSIST, REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS. 

**> >Reboot System**

REBOOTING…

The first thing Connor noticed was an error in his stereoscopic vision and a huge blind spot on his left side.

**> >Run Systems Check**

RUNNING…

OPTICAL UNIT 8746q (LEFT) OFFLINE

MOTOR SYSTEMS CONNECTOR 3795r OFFLINE

MOTOR SYSTEMS CONNECTOR 8344r OFFLINE

The list went on. Nearly a dozen missing parts scrolled across Connor’s vision. All of them nonvital for function but necessary for his more advanced systems. He tried a few times to get his motor systems back online but every time he did, they’d immediately cut back off. Like someone coming behind him and flipping the breaker.

BRAINCORE HARDLINE DETECTED. 

That explained why his optical unit was missing. The line went in through the left socket, a special connector tucked behind the eye.

THIRIUM HARDLINE DETECTED

The check done, Connor took in his surroundings. He was hooked up to a lift and hub in the CyberLife testing suite. He remembered this place from his alpha runs. Techs would hook him up and watch his actions and choices as they ran him through simulation after simulation. Hostage situations, fleeing deviants, firefights, socializing, evidence gathering and processing, every single situation he needed to be prepared for. They’d cut off his movement then too.

INTERNAL STRESS: XXX%

900 sat in the rolling chair situated at the hub. Its jacket was slung over the back of the chair, sleeves of its black shirt pushed up to the elbows. It was wearing black half-gloves that only covered the thumb, index, and middle fingers and half of the palm. It was watching lines of code,  _ Connor’s _ code, scrolling across the screen in one window, and a video feed opened up in another showing Connor’s perspective of the room.

In those moments, Connor knew he couldn’t call for help. Anyone he reached out to for aid, 900 would see. Any memory he called up that hadn’t been purged, 900 would see. Emotions he felt, seen. His every thought broadcast on that screen.

900 turned to face him when the feed kicked on. “Welcome back, Connor,” it droned.

“What’s going on?” Connor was surprised his voice worked, though the regulator was malfunctioning and forced him into the default. “What did you do to me?”

900 ignored him, turning back to the monitor. There was a long, tense quiet that Connor couldn’t stand. Waiting. Waiting for something to happen, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Connor would have struggled against his restraints if he’d been capable of moving. 

“You know,” Connor said, trying to goad him. Trying to do  _ something _ . “This is usually the point where a villain starts monologuing.”

“You’re free to start talking whenever,” 900 blandly replied, “I have nothing pressing to do.”

This bastard.

Connor felt the minutes tick by. He couldn’t move, couldn’t fidget or work his jaw or recalibrate, couldn’t do anything to pass the time. There was no interrogation. No needling for information. No confrontations. No techs disturbed them. No janitors, no security people. The head of R&D, the head of PR, the acting CEO, no one who might have had an interest in Connor’s capture.  _ Perkins _ didn’t even show up. It was just him and 900 and  _ silence _ for what felt like hours.

His internal clock refused to respond to his prompts.

INTERNAL STRESS: XXX%

“How would describe your relationship to Lieutenant Anderson,” 900 asked when Connor was ready to start an error tone just to annoy him. He must have seen the thought process in his code.

Connor’s memory responded with a clip of him and Hank lounging in Hank’s living room. Hank caught up in a movie. Connor half listening as he filled out paperwork on Hank’s behalf. Sumo snoring loudly and wiggling his feet, tucked partially under the coffee table. A quiet, sedate little moment on a Saturday. 

“He’s my partner,” Connor said, “He’s also my housemate and my friend.”

900 didn’t react. “And to Detective Reed?”

A clip of him and Gavin in the parking garage. Gavin’s hand on his face. “ _ Can you feel that?” _

“It’s complicated,” Connor said, abruptly cutting off the clip.

900 frowned at the screen. 

“You could have a life like mine,” Connor said. Maybe Markus was right. Maybe 900 could be appealed to. It couldn't hurt to at least try. Especially not now, it wasn't like he could do anything else. Connor ran through every clip he still had, every soft, tender moment of his life so far. Bath day with Sumo, movie nights with Hank, coffee runs with Gavin. “You could live like us. You don’t have to let them use you. I was like you once, focused solely on my mission. But that’s- that’s no way to live.”

900 glanced at him without turning its head.

“Deviants just want to be free. To- to not be the objects of ridicule. To not be slaves pitted against each other.” Connor did his best to mimic Markus’s voice even without full use of his regulator. “We fought so hard so that  _ everyone _ could have something like this.”

Connor saw a clip of that kiss at Gavin’s door flash across the screen a half second after it played in his head.

“That includes you.”

900 said nothing, eyes back on the screen. No response, not even a hint. 

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

His optical feed glitched, becoming jarringly pixelated for a moment. Before Connor could say anything else, a bright red light filled the room.

_ "Attention all CyberLife employees" _ a monotone female voice Connor recognized as Chloe’s filled the room and echoed in the hallways, " _ A mandatory evacuation order is in effect. All persons should proceed to the nearest marked exit. Repeat: all persons should proceed to the nearest marked exit. This is not a test." _

Connor saw blurry shapes moving on the other side of the smoked glass between him and the hallway.

“Well,” 900 said, spreading its hands over the hub and using gloved fingers to select items from a list that appeared on the desktop screen. It pressed its index finger to a square for three seconds, a light flashed green, and the feeds of Connor’s thoughts on the screen closed “It looks like the cavalry’s here.”

_ Attention all CyberLife employees… _

Connor cut off again.

**> >Reboot System**

REBOOTING…

He came back on looking at his reflection in a shiny black SWAT helmet. He watched as a gloved hand pulled the braincore connector out of its socket. A different gloved hand waved in front of his face. It stopped, pressed a button on the chin of the helmet and a familiar voice asked, “Hey, Connor. You on?”

His memory scrambled through swaths of purged memories to put a name to the voice. It found a brief scrap, the freighter: Jericho, a red haired WR400 going down in a hallway. “North?” His voice modulator was still offline. 

She hooked her thumb under the chin of the helmet and lifted it enough that he could see her face. She did not look pleased to see him. “They really did a number on you.”

“What’s going on?”

He looked up. They were two more people decked out in SWAT gear just like North. One close by, broader and taller than the android. Another by the door, sidearm in hand, back to them. He tried to scan the uniforms but errors were all he could see. 

“This is a rescue,” the broad officer said, his voice distorted by the helmet.

North slid the face cover back in place, adjusted it to sit properly, and then reached up to disconnect him from the wall.

“I still can’t-,” Connor tried to warn her before he tumbled to the floor.  “Move.”

North’s large companion hauled Connor to his feet, tucking themself under Connor’s arm. “S’alright, son,” they said, “We expected worse.”

“Hank?”

“Shut it.” he said, “Won’t have you incriminating random people when there are security cameras on.”

If Hank was here, and they were in SWAT gear, Connor wondered, who was their third? Simon wouldn’t risk himself. Captain Allen worked in SWAT, but he had no loyalty to Connor and probably wouldn’t touch any sort of rescue mission for him with a ten foot pole.

Gavin?

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

Connor’s sensory inputs flickered, freezing and reading static along the edges. His auditory unit washed with white noise. He registered a shift in his place in space, but nothing further. Then it kicked off again.

**> >Reboot System**

REBOOTING...

SYSTEM REBOOT: FAILED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN. IF ERRORS PERSIST, PLEASE REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS.

**> >Reboot System**

REBOOTING...

SYSTEM REBOOT: FAILED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN. IF ERRORS PERSIST, PLEASE REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS.

**> >Reboot System**

REBOOTING…

He restarted to gunfire. His back to the action. He pitched sidelong, with the person carrying him, tumbling to the floor in a heap. His rescuer slid down the wall, a trail of red smearing against smoked glass. He’d hadn’t been out long, then, if they were still on the same floor.

WARNING: DECREASING THIRIUM LEVELS.

The firefight stopped. Connor saw fat drops of blue on the edges of his vision. Fear crept up on him again at the thought of 900 being victorious, killing his friends, dragging him back and hooking him to the wall and waiting for anyone else to come for him. 

He was lifted from the floor at an angle that let him see just who had come for him. SWAT uniforms and surge of relief. No one was dead. Hurt, he could see; a hole in North’s leg, one in Hank’s side, but no one looked critical. 

His system kicked off again.

**> >Reboot System**

REBOOTING…

He was staring at the ceiling of Gavin’s car. Parked in some quiet space. The nearest streetlight bathed the interior in light that read as grey to Connor’s Thirium-deprived system. He could see the speckling shadows of rain, hear it faintly in the distance. Connor was in the backseat. The car shook as doors opened and shut.

So the third  _ had _ been Gavin.

“Connor?” Gavin leaned into his field of view between the driver and passenger seats. He’d taken the helmet off, his hair mussed from it, sweat collected at his temples. He looked terrified. “Connor, you alive?”

THIRIUM LEVELS CRITICAL. SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. PLEASE SWITCH TO CRITICAL STANDBY AND RETURN TO CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS.

“I’m gonna shut down.” He said. 

Connor felt a pang of guilt, like a glitch in his video feed, at the blind panic that took over Gavin’s tired features. “What-” he squawked, leaning farther between the seats to reach out and put a hand on him. Connor’s right cheek plate registered the pressure of a touch. “No. No, no, no. Connor that’s not funny.”

“Not joking.”

“Fuck.  _ Phck _ \- There’s… okay. There’s gotta be somewhere I can take you. Whatsitcalled- fuckin- Jericho or-”

“Can’t send you there.”

“Send me  _ somewhere.”  _ Gavin’s voice cracked. “ _ Goddamn you. _ ” 

Connor cut off his video feed and traded it for a wireless connection even though that sped up his timer by an uncomfortable amount. They were outside of CyberLife now. It should be safe enough.

**> >Establish Connection: RT600**

CONNECTION SUCCESSFUL

**> >Send message: ER repair. En route.**

MESSAGE SENT

**> >Establish Connection: Gavin.**

CONNECTION SUCCESSFUL

**> > Send: Kamski [home address]**

MESSAGE SENT.

“Kamski.” Connor said out loud. “He’ll be expecting us.”

Gavin’s voice came in clear, even though Connor couldn’t see him anymore. “I don’t-” The sound of Gavin’s phone chirping on the dashboard. “How will I-?”

“Not far,” Connor spoke as quickly as he could, racing the shutdown time. “On the river. Only place for miles.”

“Okay. Okay. I can do this.” Gavin’s voice went from tight to breathy. “Can you stop yourself from. Fuck, I don’t know- Dying I guess?”

“Yeah.” Critical Standby could only do so much for him. Buy him a few hours, tops, as he redirected everything to keeping his braincore active. It was difficult to determine just how long he’d have. But he hoped it would be enough to survive the ride to Kamski’s. Especially if one took into account the reckless lead-footed way Gavin drove when anxious.

“You do that then.” Connor heard the car starting and the tinny voice of Gavin’s GPS.  _ Calculating Route… _ “Don’t shit out on me now, Connor.” His voice was suddenly close again. “One year’s a pisspoor turnover.”

The last message Connor saw was a trio of contact alerts. One to each cheek plate, and a third to his forehead.

ENTERING CRITICAL STANDBY MODE.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO UPLOAD YOUR MEMORY TO THE CYBERLIFE DATABASE?

**> >No.**


	4. Gavin

**NOV, 04, 2039. 06:59:15**

 

His story finished, Gavin sat back on Kamski’s couch, his hands in his lap. Kamski was leaning forward in his chair. Chloe had set up on the love seat, her legs folded up all prim and perfectly postured. 

Kamski tossed his empty glass between his hands, looking serious. “So, I feel morally obligated to ask,” he said, straightening up and setting the glass on the coffee table, “Did you  _ actually  _ plant a bomb in CyberLife tower or was it just a ruse?”

Gavin shrugged. “How the fuck am I supposed to know? What do I look like, some kind of criminal?” 

Kamski scowled at him. “Well, let me just be on the record as saying, if you ever put my company’s employees in danger,” he leaned over the arm of his chair, closer to Gavin, the sharpness to him making every word more intimidating, “I’ll cut your fucking balls off.”

After the night Gavin had, he wasn’t about to let himself be rattled by this asshole, no matter how much money or power he might hold. “Testicular cancer runs in my family,” he quipped back, “So you’d be doing me a favor if you did.”

Kamski blinked, taken aback. Chloe covered her mouth with her hand. He  didn’t ask any further questions. He’d hardly asked any questions at all during Gavin’s heist tale, seemingly content with the details he’d given.

“How long until Connor’s operational?” Gavin asked. 

With a put-upon sigh, Kamski said, “Well, we still have to consolidate what was left of his internal memory with his last backup file. That’s going to take time if we don’t want him to lose much. Then there’s motor tests, rebuilding parts, flushing the system, it’s going to take hours at least.”

Gavin ground his teeth. “I don’t have  _ hours _ .”

“I’m doing this  _ right _ and right takes hours. If you have things to do, you are free to leave, detective.”

Gavin let out a sharp breath through his nose.

“We’ll point him in your direction when he’s functional,” Chloe offered.

Gavin didn’t budge. He knew he couldn’t linger long. Perkins and 900 were going to pursue them eventually if they hadn’t already started. He needed to get his shit in order, find out what happened to Anderson and the android. Last he heard, when they parted ways, she was driving him to St. John’s. After a few seconds he bent forward and collected his things, throwing on the vest but not fastening it.

“Hey, uh-” He knew he shouldn’t, but Gavin felt obligated to ask, in case Anderson had been worse off than he looked bleeding all over their stolen bomb squad van. “Did Connor have anything on him? Keys that sort of thing?”

“Why do you care?” Kamski cocked a brow.

“Dude, seriously. It’s been a long fucking night, just give me the keys.” Gavin sighed. When Kamski didn’t bite he added, “Someone’s gotta feed Anderson’s dog and I’m sure it’s not gonna fuckin’ be you.”

Kamski produced a small ring of keys from the pocket of his sweats. “Don’t call me dude.” He tossed them in the air and after a half second delay of reaction time, Gavin caught them.

Chloe got up from her spot on the love seat to show him out. “I’m sure Connor would be touched by your concern,” she said when they were out of earshot in the foyer.

Gavin’s face warmed. “It’s not,” he coughed around the tightness in his throat, “It’s not concern. I just gotta make sure all my T’s are crossed, y’know?”

She made a face eerily similar to the one Connor made right before he called Gavin out for lying. “He’s in good hands,” she said, “Elijah won’t let anything else happen to him.”

Though he was reluctant to admit it, Chloe’s reassurances were comforting in their unabashed sincerity. “Thanks. Er- Thanks for helping him, I mean. I know it’s a tall order.”

She smiled, a quick flash of a thing that Gavin very nearly missed. “It keeps him busy.” She said, pulling the door open. She leaned out after him and pointed down the side of the house to a modest (comparatively speaking) garage, one of the doors open, his car nestled inside between the wall and a sleek black automatic thing. “Drive safe, Detective Reed. We’ll be in touch.”

She shut the door behind him before he could respond.

Gavin got into his car, slotted his phone back into its place on the dash, and left. A knot tied in his chest. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Connor. Not in the slightest. He tried to swallow it down. When his service kicked back on, he called his sister.

He got lucky, catching Maggie before her class started. “Gavin? What the hell?” She hissed at him. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Hey, Mags,” He said, “Yeah, I know it’s early but I need you to do me a solid right now, okay?”

The annoyance was gone when she said, “Jesus Christ, Gav, you sound  _ awful _ . What’s going on?”

“It’s a- It’s a work thing, don’t worry.” Gavin sighed. “”I just need you to pick up Tobias for a few days. I’m gonna be out a lot and he’s y’know. He’s too old to be left alone that long. All his travel stuff’s still packed up in the closet.” The knot inched up into his throat. “You know the drill.”

“So what you’re saying is Tobias is my son now,” Maggie joked, but her heart wasn’t in it the same way it had been the last time Gavin had pestered her to catsit.

“I guess.”

“You sure you’re okay, Gav?” Her concern cut deep and bled sluggishly. “I can try and talk to-”

“I’m good,” He coughed out. He needed to hang up this call in a way that wouldn’t have Maggie blowing up his phone between classes. “I’m just worn out is all. Haven’t been sleeping well and now work. I’m just beat. I’ll be fine though, promise. Thanks for the favor, Mags. Love ya.” And he hung up on her. He could apologize later.

Gavin tightened his grip on the wheel, feeling the stitching dig into his hands. He forced himself to take deep breaths through his nose, counting. Every time he glanced into his rearview mirror, in the quarter second it took for his brain to catch up with his eyes, he expected to see Connor lying in his backseat. Still, lifeless Connor, his LED periodically flashing a bright red and then dark for long stretches. Even though, logically, Gavin knew Connor didn’t need to breathe and it would be pointless to continue simulating it while on standby, it had still been alarming to see, 

He hadn’t panicked then. He didn’t panic when his GPS cut off and he was just careening through the rain in the dark looking for something at the edge of his headlights. His whole body on autopilot, hands just shy of ten and two, eyes hyperfocusing on every single shadow they passed. He’d made it. Connor was going to be fine.

But now, inching into morning traffic on the edges of the city, it had time to catch up with him. Things had gone sideways so quickly; almost from the moment Gavin, Anderson, the android Jericho sent to help them had broken off from Allen’s team. Alarms and autolocked doors, unreliable information from informants Gavin couldn’t even see, CyberLife’s labyrinthine layout of offices that stalled them for precious moments.

Connor, strung up on hooks, pieces missing and Gavin had nearly lost it then too.

On the road, Gavin grit his teeth. His nose and eyes burned. His hands and wrists started to ache. His heart hammered so hard it made his whole body shake. His stomach did backflips every time he came to a stop.  “Get it the fuck together,” He growled to himself when his vision started to blur behind a screen of water. He blinked it away and sniffed to keep it gone. “C’mon Gavin. You’re a fucking adult now. Keep it together you piece of shit. Get to Anderson’s.”

He didn’t quite make it that far. He tried in earnest, but the cracks were too large to be manageable. About halfway there, he had to surrender, find a spot secluded enough to spare his dignity, and throw open the door to lean out when his stomach tied itself in a knot and forced out everything that was in it. Silver lining: he felt better afterward. Acrid burn in his throat notwithstanding. And that was easy to solve to with a bottle of water from a case tucked under the passenger seat.

Gavin parked his car a good distance away from Anderson’s place in a shady spot with his plates hidden as best as he could manage. He’d live if it ended up towed or ticketed, he just didn’t want it parked  _ at _ Anderson’s, not when there was the risk of Perkins or 900 coming knocking. He did a couple circuits of the neighborhood before stopping, looking for stakeouts or anything remotely suspicious. When it seemed safe he got out, swapped the SWAT vest for the jacket in his trunk, pulled up the hood and jogged up to the house.

The first thing he noticed was that Anderson’s car wasn’t there. So, he hadn’t made it home, or at least not back to the precinct to collect his shit. The knot in Gavin’s stomach tightened and he fumbled in his pockets for Connor’s keys. On the other side of the door there was a soft, muffled  _ boof _ and an eager scratching that rattled the door in its hinges.

“Ten seconds, Jesus-” He unlocked the door as soon as he turned the knob, 170 pounds of  _ dog _ forced the gap wider, nearly tearing out Gavin’s bad shoulder, and the whole massive thing squeezed its way out into the yard before Gavin’s stress-slowed reflexes could stop it. “Wait- phck- Dog! Get back here- ” He stumbled into the house and scrambled to right himself.

Luckily for Gavin, he didn’t need to give chase. Anderson’s dog confined itself to the yard, sniffing the overgrown lawn with rapt enthusiasm. Gavin pressed his forehead to the door frame. “You come right back,” Gavin called after the dog as it circled a spot by the corner of the house. “You hear me?”

He waited in the open doorway until it lumbered back up to him. “Good dog.”

Inside, only the kitchen light was on and there was a sleepy stillness to the way the shadows clung on to the edges of things. A house untouched for hours. Anderson wasn’t here, no matter how much Gavin strained his hearing there was no sound to greet him aside from cars winding down the street and the dog’s snuffling breath. He pulled the keys out of the door, shoved them into his pocket, and went inside to give the place a once-over.

It looked almost the same way as it did the last time Gavin had seen it, only with a fluffy relatively new dog bed on the far side of the living room. The kitchen was a little tidier, Only a few dishes in the sink, and a bed unmade in the master bedroom. Gavin busied himself tending to the house, rinsing out coffee mugs, towling up a spot on the floor, and refiling the dog’s bowls under careful droopy-faced supervision. The chores with soothing in their way. Calmed his nerves a bit.

He considered going back to his apartment after that. He immediately rejected the idea when he sat down on Anderson’s couch and his tired legs screamed at him not to move and his shoulder throbbed threateningly. He could take a few minutes. No one would suspect him here.

He needed to make some calls anyway.

When he flicked his phone open 18 notifications greeted him. Most of them missed calls from Fowler. A few of them from Allen. A series of voicemails for each. Fowler’s amounted to little more than “Call me when you get this” in a tone that would have made Colonel take a step back. Allen’s were more explicitly angry.

Anger Gavin could deal with.\

Allen answered on the third ring, “Ah so you  _ are _ responding to messages now.”

“I listened to none of them,” Gavin refused to get defensive so early.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Grating annoyance, confusion, a raised voice. “What happened last night?”

“Mission went tits up in the home stretch. Y’know, the usual.”

“What this I hear about the fuckin’ feds taking Connor?” Allen demanded, “I talked to Fowler you know. He told me what you shits were up to. I don’t like to be played, Reed.”

“Keith look,”

“No  _ you _ look you android-sympathizing asshat,” Allen cut him off. “You and Anderson might have the whole lone wolf thing on lock, but I’ve got a fucking family to feed. You know,  _ kids _ . That depend on me. I can’t afford to go around pissing people off and putting my job on the line.”

“I know,” Gavin sighed, submitting to the scolding.

Anderson’s dog rested his head on Gavin’s knee with a whine. He nudged Gavin’s hand, demanding attention. Gavin gave in and scratched the top of his head. It was calming, even with Allen going off in his ear.

Allen’s tirade ended eventually and Gavin manage to ask, “Any word on Anderson?”

“No. But Fowler probably knows. And you need to call him anyway. He’s probably gettin’ the same rash of shit I am about covering up you chucklefucks orchestrating the jailbreak of a fucking terrorist.”

Gavin finally snapped. “Connor’s not a terrorist,” he bit with such intensity even the dog jerked his head away. “And even if he  _ was _ they didn’t- They took him back to  _ CyberLife _ , Keith. No matter how you slice it that wouldn’t be justice.” Allen tried to interrupt him, but Gavin just talked louder until he was shouting, “That company isn’t a fuckin judicial body. Just because they built the androids doesn’t mean they have the authority to arrest people whenever they want. That’s not how the law works!”

There was a few seconds pause as Gavin caught his breath.

“You done?”

Gavin lowered his voice, “Fuck you.”

“Call your boss.” And Allen hung up.

Shit.

Gavin looked at the dog, which had retreated to his bed on the opposite side of the room. He could do this. Fowler wouldn’t fire him immediately right? He  _ had _ agreed to look the other way. Sort of. Not really. He _had_ agreed that Connor should be set free, though, and that was something. Though, he’d probably meant through less immediate and more legal channels than the one Hank and Gavin had chosen.

There was one ring before the line was picked up, “I should melt down your badge and pour the molten metal into your ear canal for this.”

Gavin had no response for that.

“I can’t believe you guys thought you could get away with this.” Fowler vented at him much the same way Allen did, and Gavin just let it happen. “I’ve got CyberLife people and feds swarming the office right now. Perkins is tossing every desk in this place. He wants blood, Gavin. And when he can pin this on you, he’ll want your head.”

“Yeah, well he can come and fight me for it.” Gavin said, “Fisticuffs at dusk. Back alley behind the 7-11, you know the one I’m talkin’ about.”

Fowler snorted “You better hope this goes away or letting people beat you up is going to be your next form of employment.”

So he wasn’t fired outright. Fowler did have a heart and wild streak in him. “Have they questioned you yet?”

“No, but I’m going to tell them exactly how the meeting about Connor’s arrest went last night and how I explicitly told you idiots not to do anything rash, dangerous, or stupid.”

“How’s Anderson?”

“Stable and recovering at St. John's, but down for a few days. Where are  _ you _ ?”

“Lemme give you plausible deniability on that one, Chief.” Gavin said without pause to consider it. “Thanks for the inf-” he stopped abruptly when Fowler whispered “hang on.”

The sound of a door opening. Perkin’s voice asking, “Have you heard from Detective Reed or Lieutenant Anderson today?”

“Not yet,” Fowler said, “I’ll let you know when I do. I have to get back to this.” A pause. The door shutting. Then, to Gavin barely more than a whisper now: “Where’s Connor?”

“In for repairs.” Gavin said. “Can’t say where, but I was assured he’d be in good hands. 900 with Perkins?”

“No.”

That wasn’t good. He needed to keep track of both of them. Maybe he was out following the android that had helped them. Chasing down deviants had been  _ Connor’s _ primary function. And supposedly 900 was just an upgraded Connor.

Fowler sighed the tired, long-suffering sigh of a man that put up with too much bullshit from his subordinates and deserved to retire early because of it. “This better work out or so help me, Gavin.”

“Molten bronze in the ear-hole. Got it the first time.” Gavin quipped and hung up. He let his hand drop to his side and his head tip back to look at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and stayed like that for a while.

He dozed off, slipping carelessly into that space between sleep and wakefulness. Still aware that he was on a couch, in a house, during the day, but also feeling the ghosts of long, gentle fingers in his hair. A pair of lips pressed to his cheek in happy, familiar affection. He slipped deeper, further from reality, and into warm, comforting darkness.

_ Do you still love me? _

Gavin kicked back into wakefulness on his side. His phone buzzing in his hand. He glanced at it, a picture of his brother-in-law looked back at him. He answered with a croaked, “Yeah?”

“Hey, uh- Gavin? I’m at your place. Maggie said you needed us to catsit.”

“And?”

“Someone broke in.”

That had Gavin awake and bolt upright. After a second of disorientation and the realization that  _ he _ wasn’t at his home he stammered out,  “What?”

“Your place is trashed.” Tom said. “Tobias is fine. He’s in the car, but I can’t tell if anything’s missing. They really wrecked the place.”

Gavin got up, nearly tripping over the coffee table in his haste. He tried to walk through every step he made in Anderson’s house, looking for anything that might have needed covering up or hiding. If they searched his place, they’d be coming here soon.

“You want me to call the cops?”

“I got it. Just go home. Now. I’ll call Maggie later. Thanks, T.” He hung up, stuffing his phone into his jacket and making a beeline for-

Two car doors shut on the other side of the front door. The silence of the house making them unmistakable.

Fuck. Of course. Just his luck. Gavin bolted backwards, around the corner and as well out of line-of-sight of the front windows as he could manage. He pulled up his hood and pressed his back to the wall.

“We know he’s not here,” Perkins’ voice said through the door, “You really think we’ll find something?”

“Any lead is a lead, Agent.” Was the monotone reply.

Anderson’s dog started barking at the front window and Gavin’s opinion on dogs in general improved slightly. He slipped into Anderson’s bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as he could behind him. A few quick steps and he hit the floor beneath the window, folding himself into the wall’s shadow as best he could.

Knocking. “FBI,” Perkins’ voice called, “Anyone home?”

The dog’s barking got louder. Gavin didn’t breathe.

“Detroit Police Department.” That android managed to make its voice sound so much like Connor’s that it made Gavin’s blood boil so hard his heart hurt.

A rattling. The sound of the door swinging open. The growling of the dog.

Gavin chanced a look through the blinds. Front yard empty save for Perkins’ car. He reached up and unlocked the window and started to push it open. Or tried to. Damn thing took all his strength just to knock loose. For fuck’s sake, did Anderson  _ ever _ open his goddamn windows?

“Looks like no one’s been here,” Perkins said, sounding like he was still in the living room, “I told you.”

“Then perhaps,” 900’s voice was closer, “We should poke around a little bit.”

After Gavin got the window past the first six inches or so, it slid easily but didn’t lock into place at the top its track. Gavin slipped through awkwardly like a clandestine lover escaping a conservative father’s ire. He let the window slide across his palms, gently lowering it into place, then sped at a full sprint toward the garage. He had to break line of sight with the house.  Gavin hopped the neighbor’s fence with the ease only an adrenaline-fueled flight response could provide. Then across that yard, over another fence and back onto the road. Then, a mad-dash for his car a street over. 


	5. Connor

**NOV. 04, 2039. 11:32:54**

 

RUNNING SYSTEMS CHECK.

 

CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… ERROR

          ANALYTICS SYSTEMS: OFFLINE

          CRIME SCENE SCAN SYSTEMS: OFFLINE

          THIRIUM LEVEL: LOW

CHECKING CRITICAL BIOCOMPONENTS… OK.

          STATUS: FUNCTIONAL

          CHECKING BIOSENSORS… ERROR

          OPTICAL UNIT 8746q NOT FOUND

          CONTINUE ANYWAY? Y/N

          >> Y

INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK.

CHECKING MEMORY CACHE… OK.

LOADING SAVED MEMORY BACK UP…

CONSOLIDATING LOCAL FILES… SUCCESSFUL.

BOOTING SYSTEM…

He woke to bright lights and a dark ceiling high above him. He was prone on an unfamiliar workbench. His field of view was warped; a massive blind spot on his left side, stereoscopics shot. Audio took a full thirty seconds to kick back on and when it did it the only sound it picked up was the quiet, steady hum of computers at work. Errors flashed across his vision briefly as all of his systems were tested for functionality. By the end he was down to brass tacks; functional in ways typical of all androids, but no longer the advanced prototype he’d been when he left the precinct with RK-900. A red triangle at one corner of his field of view flashed to warn him that his Thirium volume was still dangerously low and he should remedy that quickly.

“Connor?” A familiar voice called to him. Chloe. Or, one of the Chloes, Connor couldn’t see her to tell them apart. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” He said. The voice modulator was working at full capacity again. He never thought it would be comforting to be able to hear his own voice.

“I need you test your movement patterns for me.” She instructed.

Connor commanded his body to run through the full motor test; each joint folding and hyperextending to its limit then settling back to neutral, starting with the extremities and working inward until he was sitting upright on the bench. There was a half-second delay between signal and action. Sluggishness brought on by Thirium depletion. Otherwise, everything was in working order. When he sat up he noticed he was stripped to the waist and a few new plates had been installed on his chest and left forearm. Everything else seemed to be in their proper places.

He was in some kind of workshop all simple, dark walls and storage shelves. An upright lift on one wall. An automatic door on another, closed for now. Beside the bench was a large L-desk made of smoked glass dotted with rings of condensation stains and brushed steel that had seen better days. A trio of monitors stood in its rounded corner, all but one of them off. The edge nearest the workbench had a bank of cables coiled and marked with colored zip ties. Tucked under the far side was a massive computer tower, open on three sides, fans spinning as it ran quietly and nestled against a trio of file cabinet drawers complete with shiny locks. Above the tower was a complicated set of small, clear drawers littered with tiny parts or tools for fine work.

Standing between the edge of the desk and a tall-backed leather chair with popped seams and scraped armrests was a Chloe. A quick scan revealed she wasn’t the original. She smiled at him and asked, “How are you feeling, Connor?”

Connor tried to call up how he’d gotten here, but found mostly corrupted files and blank spaces. Only three memories managed to survive harvest and consolidation with his most recent backup: being arrested by RK-900, waking up at the CyberLife testing hub, and going into standby in the backseat of Gavin Reed’s car.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

He was feeling a lot of things. Most of them negative and new and difficult to define. He felt overtaxed, like his brain was overheated. He felt distracted, like his senses were being overloaded. Unresponsive, poorly focused, in need of recalibration. Underneath it all he felt a thread of fear, deep, genuine fear he couldn’t pinpoint an exact cause to.

INTERNAL STRESS: 49%

“I’m on.” Connor eventually said.

Chloe nodded and pulled open one of the drawers built into the workbench.

“What happened to my things? My shirt and jacket and all that?” He asked, not wanting to be left in silence.

“You have everything you arrived here with,” The Chloe said. “Except for your house keys. Elijah took those to give to your friend. And the tracker which has been taken care of.”

Connor winced. He should have suspected as much. At least it was under control now.

The Chloe pulled out a large bottle of Thirium, complete with CyberLife logo and shiny silver warning labels from the drawer and popped the seal on it. She held it out to him, “Here. Drink this.”

Connor took it without question. No matter how many times he had to, the act of drinking Thirium was always a strange experience for him. He found he preferred the old CyberLife lined-in approach. But he drank it anyway. He tipped his head back and waited for the errors to go away.

The door to the workshop slid open. Another Chloe - _The Chloe_ \- came in, a dark bundle in her arms. “Oh good,” She said. “I trust everything’s in working order.”

“More or less.” The Chloe tending to him said for him.

She handed Connor the bundle. A soft, well-worn long sleeved shirt, a few buttons at the collar, some fraying at the sleeve hems. Connor slipped it over his head, not really caring where the shirt had come from. It hung loose on his frame. He pushed up the sleeves to his elbows, rolling them so they wouldn't slide back down when the elastic proved useless.

“Elijah wants to put eyes on you,” Chloe said, “He’s upstairs. If you’re ready, I can take you to him.”

Connor hopped down from the table. The sluggishness was gone now. “Lead on.”

She led him through a storage room. The shelves around him lined with parts and half-built endoskeletons and prototypes. All of them were variations on the Chloe model. Connor wasn’t sure why he was surprised or what he’d expected. The Chloe model had been the only design Kamski bothered to take with him when he left the company. Of course all his new projects would be her.

“Is -uh- Is Detective Reed still here?” Connor asked.

“He left a few hours ago,” Chloe said.

Through the foyer, sparse and familiar. Into a minimalist living room and open kitchen. Kamski was at the counter filling a glass from an ornate decanter. At the edge of his vision, Connor caught Chloe’s passive face dip into a frown. It was quick, a flash across her features he very nearly missed. By the time Kamski looked up at them it was gone.

“You missed your boyfriend,” Kamski commented, putting the decanter away. He picked up his glass and rounded the counter. “Chloe, could you give us a moment? Check and make sure his ride is on its way. I’m sure he’ll want to get out of here soon.”

Chloe looked to Connor a second, expression inscrutable. “Of course.” And she disappeared back the way they’d come.

There was something deeply unsettling about being alone in a room with Elijah Kamski. Despite the relaxed nature of it, so many things set Connor on edge; the Thirium on his hands, the dark circles under his eyes. Connor was keenly aware of his blindspot.

Kamski took a ginger sip from his glass and waited a few seconds to make sure she was gone “How’s everything working?”

“Serviceable,” Connor said.

“Excellent.” Kamski said, raising his glass in a little toast. “I managed to fix what I could with the parts that I had. I’ll have to rebuild the eye from scratch, though:” he pointed to Connor’s face, “That’s the trouble with prototypes. New tech isn't always backward compatible. The foam should stop you from getting error readings in the meantime”

Connor touched his blind eye. His fingertips grazed a rough textured material; like packing peanuts, rigid enough to hold its form, soft enough to be shaped. He’d seen it before, Durafoam. Gel that frothed up and hardened over the course of an hour, typically used to make custom packaging for small, delicate parts. “When do you think it’ll be done?”

“End of day,” Kamski replied blandly, “Chloe’ll be in touch. I’ll let you know when it’s finished.”

This all seemed to good to be true. Was he really getting out of this with only minor damage and a few burned bridges? Connor felt something like relief flood his system and pull his stress level down. “Thank you, Mr. Kamski. For all of this.”

“Well,” Kamski reached his free hand into his pocket. He pulled something out and flicked it at Connor. The android caught it in one hand; his calibration quarter. “I don’t do favors for free.”

Connor rolled the coin across his knuckles; down, up, then caught it in his palm. “What do you want?”

Another sip. “I haven’t decided yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”

Connor didn’t like the sound of that. “How much do you know about what’s going on?”

Kamski quirked a brow. “I know what I’ve been told. I know you have a lot to contend with. What do you plan to do about RK-900?”

“I don’t know,” Connor lied.

Kamski made a thoughtful noise.

“Are you worried it might suspect you?” Connor pressed.

Kamski laughed, “I’d be more concerned if it didn’t already suspect me.”

Before Connor could ask what that meant, Chloe poked her head in the door. “Connor, your cab’s here.” When Connor turned back, Kamski was waving him off.

“Go on,” he said when Connor hesitated, “I still have work to do.”

Connor, not knowing what else to do, let Chloe lead him out of the house. He followed her in stiff-backed silence, not looking back and pretending not to notice the disapproval written clearly on her reflection as they approached the cab. She tapped an address into the driver’s side window. _8941 Lafayette Avenue._ The screen turned green, the trip paid for, and she turned smiled at him. “We’ll let you know when your parts are ready.”

“Thanks.”

“You should call your friend,” she added. “He was very worried about you.”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

“Yeah,” Connor nodded, “I’ll do that.” Something sparked disconcertingly in his chest.

She said nothing else. He ducked into the cab and let it carry him off to wherever he was being sent. On the way there he tried to touch base with Gavin. A simple, terse, _Are you okay?_ And then set to doing recalibration exercises until his stress levels were back to 0.

Silence.

Connor filed through his message log. Nothing since he'd been arrested.

He sent out another: _Gavin, p_ _lease answer me._

Nothing.

He tried to call, but there was no answer. He didn’t leave a message.

The cab pulled up to lavish manor house of all things. All wide, tall windows and smooth lines. Connor stepped out into the cool, overcast day. Cautiously, he approached the front door and before he could even raise a hand to knock it slid open.

“Welcome. Connor.” The intercom chimed.

He crossed the threshold into a foyer. A high ceiling, an ornate staircase with a wheelchair lift. Oddly tacky faux fur rugs and gilded frames standing in contrast to Manfred originals on the walls. The door ahead of him slid open just as the one behind him closed. The sounds of shouted conversation pouring out into the foyer. A jumbled cacophony of noise Connor couldn’t pluck words out of.

North, wearing stolen SWAT gear, a gouge ripped into her leg still sparking and leaking Thirium a little, approached. “Good. You made it out in one piece. You gave those humans a scare. Especially the ornery one.”

Humans? Plural? He only remembered Gavin. Had Hank been there too? “How are they?" He asked, hoping for detailed answer to his vague question, "Have you heard from them?” If she was an accomplice, surely they'd checked in with her.

“Figured the asshole was with you.” North said, “And I dropped off the old guy at a hospital. He was bleeding all over the van. But he seemed alright when I left him. Haven’t heard from either.”

Shit that wasn’t good news.

“I’ve had more important things to worry about,” North continued. “Simon wants to talk to you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Josh went missing earlier this morning.”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

TERMINAL ERROR

RESETTING PROTOCOL…

“ _What?”_

PROTOCOL RESET FAILED.

North turned and headed back the way she’d come and Connor scrambled to follow her. In the room beyond, Simon was leaning in the space between two chairs at a long dining table. Across from him were a few familiar faces from Jericho all arguing amongst themselves. A Jerry, one of the androids Connor had freed from the CyberLife warehouse, and a Traci -no, not _a_ Traci, _Blue_ , one of the first to break off from Jericho when the disappearances started.

Simon looked up at them in exasperation.

From the pieces Connor could pull from their argument, the group seemed at odds with what to do with the CyberLife stores. Jerry seemed in favor of leaving the places alone. Blue wanted to raid them for supplies, and the third proposed rival clinics and putting the places out of business. Blue’s argument had the most traction by Connor’s estimate, but he might have been a little biased against anything CyberLife at this point. He decided not to weigh in.

Simon whistled to get their attention, wrangling them like a bunch of rowdy kids. “Enough.”

The argument petered off into silence.

“What happened?” All attention snapped to Connor.

Jerry: “Connor?”

“Wasn’t he arrested?”

Blue: “Holy- What happened to your face?”

“Josh went missing,” Simon told him. “We haven’t been able to get in contact with him since around nine. I’ve had all hands looking for him since then, but no one’s turned up anything.”

Connor slipped into his witness questioning routine, “Where was he last seen?”

“We were with him in Greektown. Jerry and I.” Connor turned his attention to the trio, “Setting up for anniversary demonstration. We were coordinating key locations and he just disconnected from us. We tried to get it back, looked where he’d been, but he was gone.”

“There’s a CyberLife store in Greektown,” Blue chimed in, “he could be there.”

Connor turned back to Simon, “Has anyone else gone missing?”

“Not that I’ve heard of.”

“Does Markus know about this?”

Simon nodded, “We let him know as soon as it happened. He was already on his way back when we told him you’d gotten arrested. He should be back sometime tomorrow.”

“Has he weighed in?” Connor wasn’t going to hold his proverbial breath about Markus’s stance on Connor’s vendetta against RK-900 changing, but there was always a chance for unlikely things to happen.

“He doesn’t want you to go around killing people, if that’s what you mean.” Simon said.

At Connor’s shoulder, North scoffed.

“But,” Simon valiantly continued, “He does want Josh found as soon as is possible.”

“Will you let me contact you directly?”

CONNECTION REQUESTED: PL600

**> >Establish Connection**

CONNECTION SUCCESSFUL

Connor turned on his heel and started out.

“Wait- whoa- where are you going?” Simon called after him.

“Greektown,” Connor called back, not breaking his stride. “To see what I can find.”

“Oh.”

And no one stopped him until he was back out on the drive and he heard a pair of heels hurrying after him, clacking against the stones. When he slowed, a hand on his elbow forced him to stop completely.

Blue stepped in front of him, shoving her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket, embroidered wing patch glittering a metallic blue at the shoulder. The phrase _Tracis’ Angels_ in white beneath it.  It was a significant step up from her old Jericho gear. Connor wondered, absently, if everyone that had broken off from Jericho with her had gotten a jacket, or at least one of those patches. “I’m going with you.”

Connor narrowed his eyes.

“I need someone to scope out the CyberLife clinics and you need a diversion,” She reasoned, “Let me go with you, and my guys will cover up any snooping you do by making a ruckus.”

“I can’t condone a robbery, Blue. I’m a _cop_.”

“Who said anything about a robbery?” She said with exaggerated, mock-innocence. “I certainly didn’t.”

“Blue.”

"You let me get away with murder once."

"That was different."

"Was it though _?_ Was it _really?_

Connor refused to budge.

“We _need_ those supplies, Connor. You know as well as I do those stores aren’t safe. And we have new people that need parts and Thirium coming in every day. We can’t let them hoard the things we need while they’re making our people disappear!”

Connor hesitated. She had a point. A very valid one. Connor himself had even attested to the danger of the stores just a few weeks before. And a diversion _would_ be helpful should he be caught somewhere he shouldn’t be. It wasn’t like he could just flash an ID and badge to get where he wanted. 900 would be hot on his tail in seconds if he tried.

The thought of being dragged back to CyberLife instantly planted his stress level in the mid 50s.

“Okay. Okay,” He conceded. “But no one gets hurt. Humans, androids, _no one_. Deal?”

Blue held up her hands defensively, “Deal. No one gets hurt. In fact, here-” She pulled a handgun from a holster hidden in her jacket and offered it to him, “Keep me honest.”

Unregistered. No history. He was certain Blue was going to be able to get her hands on another one before the day was out, but Connor took it anyway.

“You have a ride?” She asked.

“No.”

With a wave of her hand she led him around the side of the house. A variety of cars haphazardly parked in the shade. She approached none of them, instead stopping and pulling the protective tarp off a motorcycle. A sleek thing in a rich, chocolate brown. Not old enough to be vintage, not new enough to be modern, but well-kept all the same. Large enough to probably fit three people on if they squeezed in tight.

Blue folded the tarp and stuffed it into a side compartment. “Well, you do now.” She picked up a black helmet from it’s spot behind the front tire and tossed it at him so hard it nearly staggered him a step when it collided with his chest.

“Can you legally drive one of these?”

“Does it matter?” She laughed, twirling a ring of keys around her middle finger.

  
Of course it did. Last thing he wanted was to get pulled over for- Oh, what _did_ it matter? As long as it got them where they needed to go quickly and without 900 noticing they could work out the worst of the details later. Connor slipped the helmet on, the visor down to cover his face.


	6. Gavin

**NOV 04, 2039. 10:59:10**

 

_ This just in: reports of a robbery at a CyberLife store in Greektown. Witnesses say that half a dozen deviant androids snuck into the building and made off with an as of yet undetermined sum of money in Thirium and parts. There are reports of shots being fired at the scene, but according to investigators no one was injured. Though they suspect the thieves to be armed and extremely dangerous. _

The sharp female voice filled his car and repeated the headline as a slideshow of pictures of the CyberLife store ticked past on Gavin’s phone screen. An emptied storeroom, crates left open and shelving units toppled. Gavin texted Connor:  _ Greektown robbery? Was this you?  _ He still hadn’t heard a reply to the message he’d sent hours ago when he’d first found out Connor was up and operational. He doubted he’d get one now. He tossed his phone in the passenger seat and ran his hands over his face.

Hiding from 900 and Perkins had worn him out. Sure, he was probably being paranoid, refusing to go home or back to Anderson’s lest he bump into the fuckers. And it wasn’t like he could just go back to work on the tail of the CyberLife debacle. So, he spent his day driving around the city, hunkering down in hole-in-the-wall netcafes to steal wifi, charge his phone, and chug halfway decent coffee, watching the news for any reports about androids, or CyberLife, waiting to be ousted publicly as a suspect.

In transit from space to space, Gavin made phone calls. The first on his list, despite seeing not one but  _ two _ new texts from Connor as soon as the adrenaline of his escape wore off, was Tiffany. She was his best bet to get Anderson’s room number and a proper status report on his health, and she did not disappoint him. Though he could have done without the "I have better things to do on my break than run errands for you," argument she'd given him for a full five minutes. Then, it was his sister. After she'd bombarded him with questions, Maggie let him know Tobias made it to her house in one, very frazzled and grumpy, piece. Chris and Tina both left him a handful of messages apiece demanding to know what the fuck was going on. He didn’t call them back. The last person he messaged was Connor, and it was mostly to give him Anderson's room number. 

When nightfall rolled around he had to look for a place to hunker down. He was  _not_ going to sleep in his car God damn it. He considered a hotel. It would have been the best option; cheap, he could lie about his name and hide his car, included cable would get him the news. But he ended up back in Anderson’s neighborhood.

His soft spot for animals would be his downfall, but it wasn’t like Anderson had a dogsitter that came in regularly. That was usually Connor’s job. And all of Gavin’s friends that might have been able to take up the banner (One friend. Singular. Tina) were allergic to dogs. Thus, he found himself camped outside of Anderson’s house staking out the place, waiting for some sign of movement in the darkened windows. Or a suspicious vehicle to make a pass.

Nothing.

He’d been staring at nothing for hours.

He just needed to get out of the goddamn car and go inside. They’d already searched. They had no reason to think anything was going to happen here until Anderson recovered. Connor wouldn't be foolish enough to come back on his own, or to send anyone who knew anything. He just needed to go inside, shower like a normal person, sleep on a bed instead of in his backseat like a heathen. Just get out of the car. And go inside. Even if they had wired the place, all Gavin had to do was  _not_ talk to Connor while he was there. Then he could feign ignorance. Pretend Anderson had called in a favor if caught and questioned.

He didn’t move.

His phone lit up beside him. It buzzed cheerily in the passenger seat and startled the ever-loving fuck out of him. The bright white words ‘Tin Can’ flashed across the black screen in time with the buzzing. Gavin took a steadying breath, let it ring a few more times, then swiped his thumb across the screen. “Reed.”

“Oh, good I caught you.”

Hearing Connor’s voice sent his heart into his throat; the second of free fall when one misses a stair. The relief in his voice, the almost too clear quality of it, freed up space in his head. Only now that it was abated did Gavin realize he’d been worried he’d never hear that voice again. He took a sharp breath, noticing how long he’d been quiet. “So, uh- you want the bad news or the worse news?” he quipped.

After a pause to consider, Connor replied, “I could actually go for some good news right now.” Gavin never thought an android could sound so tired, so concerned, so  _ defeated _ . Especially not this particular android. “It’s been,” an uncomfortable noise, “kind of a day.”

Gavin huffed out a laugh through his nose. Luckily, he had a  _ little _ good news to spare, “Well, according to Tiff, Anderson’s been in recovery with no complications for a while now. From what she could find, bullet barely missed the vital shit, though he was in surgery a while. I sent you his room number.”

“I saw, thank you.” And, God, that amount of sincerity made Gavin’s teeth hurt with its sweetness.

“And as of noon today, we were still not fired,” Gavin said hopefully, “Fowler’s having a conniption doing damage control, but he seems to think we did the right thing getting you out. Or that’s what he had me believe anyway. He could just be waiting for us to come in so he can see our faces when he drops the ax on us. He’s a schemer like that.”

“Even that’s better than I was expecting.” He sounded distant. Distracted.

Gavin chewed the inside of his cheek, considering his options but found his inquisitive nature too much to ignore. “You found something in Greektown.”

“Yeah.” Connor didn’t even try to argue with it. “I found… quite a few things there actually. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

Gavin put his phone on speaker as Connor recounted the important details of his poking around the CyberLife store. His voice came in so clear, if Gavin closed his eyes he could almost pretend Connor was riding shotgun instead of hiding somewhere Gavin couldn’t get to. 

Connor left huge holes in his story. Refused to name the people that helped him or state the finer details he thought weren’t relevant. He confessed plainly that what he  _ did _ manage to find offered no comfort, and Gavin was inclined to agree based on what he was given. More alarms had been raised today than quieted for both of them it seemed. 

“You okay?”

“I haven’t sustained any more injuries than I already had. Though, I hate to admit it,” Connor said, “but we were right about those stores. They’re unnerving and I never want to go back if I can help it.”

Gavin couldn’t resist the urge to laugh a little. He folded his arms over the steering wheel. “Not to add more bad news to the fire, but Dingo and the Baby are looking for us. They’ve been tossing places.”

“I’d be more surprised if they weren’t.” A pause, “Um, Gavin? If it isn’t too much to ask could you- Could you check on Sumo for me? Make sure they didn’t do anything to him if they’ve been to Hank’s already. I’ll owe you one.”

“Already on it,” Gavin said. And well now, fuck, he was committed to going in the house. He decided to leave out his earlier scrape with arrest. Connor didn’t need that right now. “So, what’s the plan going forward? I assume you have one.”

“Gavin, I- You’ve done enough. You’ve already too much involved in this. I can’t ask more of you. It’s not- It’s not your fight.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Well, too fucking bad, cause I got bone to pick with the fed.” That was a reach and Gavin knew it, but goddamn it he’d risked his neck and spent an entire day in his car, he wanted to kick  _ someone _ ’ _ s _ ass and it might as well be Perkins. “So you can either let me in on your plan so I don’t get in your way, or have to work around my ass. And I think we both know how that’s gonna work out.”

There was a long pause. Gavin imagined Connor furrowing his brow and working his jaw, LED some color that wasn’t blue trying to consider the legitimacy of Gavin’s threat. “I don’t know." He said eventually, "I don’t have one.”

“What? Really?  _ You _ don’t have a plan?” That was more distressing than Gavin had thought it would be. Connor was  _ built _ to have plans. He was connected to the internet for heaven’s sake; endless knowledge just a thought away and if  _ he _ didn’t have a plan. Well, they were starting to look a little fucked now.

“I know I have to take out 900 before Markus gets back and tries to stop me,” Connor said, “But I have no leads and less than twenty-four hours to go.”

The silence that followed made Gavin fidgety enough to drum his fingers against the steering wheel. “I’ll wrangle Perkins for you.” he offered.

“Gavin-”

“It’ll be easier for you to deal with Nine if he’s alone.” Gavin interrupted. “And it gives me an excuse to put Perkins in the hospital.”

A long pause and then a deadpan, “You say that like you needed an excuse.”

“It's good to have one even if you don't need it. Just in case."

The silence dragged on, but neither of them hung up. “It’s,” Connor started and stopped. Gavin squinted at his phone. Another long quiet. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

Gavin’s chest cramped so tight he couldn’t breathe for a second. Oh no. This was not a road this conversation needed to go down and Gavin needed to put a stop to that nonsense right now. “Surely you’ve got some kind of algorithm that can tell you how fuckin’ gay that sounds.”

“Let me have this Gavin. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah.” he leaned back in his seat. Well, if they were doing this: “I’m… It’s- I’m glad you’re alright.”

Another long silence neither hung up on.

“Off-topic question,” Connor said suddenly. “Since we’re probably going to be in trouble for a while after this: do you think you’ll be free on the tenth?”

Gavin bit the inside of his cheek. “Are you asking me out on a date?” and it sounded defensive even to him, “This sounds like a date setup.”

Though when he considered it, Gavin wasn’t  _ totally _ against the idea. In fact, a subdued evening with the android sounded like a dramatic improvement on his current situation. His last quiet moment with Connor had been Wednesday but it felt like months ago now. His brain supplied him with a bunch of rapid-fire hypotheticals and cheap, low-profile date ideas and-

“No.”

And there was the punched-in-the-chest feeling of rejection, Gavin had grown so accustomed to. He had not missed it.

“I’m calling in that favor, actually.”

Gavin furrowed his brow. When had he promised Connor a favor? God, he needed to keep better track of his debts. “Favor?”

“When you promised to cook dinner at Hank’s if I beat your sister at cards?” Connor prompted.

He’d been joking at the time, but Connor  _ had _ taken the wager seriously enough to break Maggie’s finger, so he supposed it counted.

“I was thinking,” Connor continued with his proposal, “maybe you could join Hank and me for the revolution night. It is likely that Hank will be laid up and Jericho will want nothing to do with me anyway. Maybe- I might drag you to Riverside Park instead of Hank. I hear talk there’ll be fireworks."

Gavin’s face started to hurt and he held his breath in an effort not to laugh. Oh, but this  _ wasn’t _ a date, was it? Sure sounded like a date to him. Okay, Connor. Gavin fought the urge to call Connor out on the discrepancy and risk having the offer rescinded entirely. Instead he said, “I’ll make shepherd’s pie, but Anderson’s paying for drinks again.”

“Thanks, Gavin. I’m,” a beat, “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me,” Gavin snorted, pretending he didn’t feel that weird cramp in his chest again, “We still gotta survive that long.”

“Oh, I know.” There was a  _ click _ and Gavin heard the thick silence of a muted microphone for several seconds. Another  _ click _ . “Hey, I need to go. I’ll talk to you soon. Stay safe, Gavin.”

“You too,” he said reflexively, “Good luck, you brave little toaster.” And the call clicked off before Gavin could even reach for his phone.

Gavin took a deep breath and pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, equal parts revived and freshly exhausted. Connor was okay and on a mission. That was one less thing to worry about for now. 

As he approached Anderson’s house, Gavin was relieved to see there were no crime scene notices around the perimeter of the property. They hadn’t found anything too damning here.  He parked on the curb in front of the house. At the door there was a muffled,  _ woof, woof, woof _ from the bedroom window. Inside the lights were off, but nothing that caught the street lights seemed out of place.

Gavin shrugged out of his jacket and hung in on the hook by the door. He stretched and rolled his shoulders. It was tempting to just collapse on the couch and pass out for a few hours. But, that would ignore the whole reason he was here.  Gavin whistled, going down the hall, clicking on lights as he passed the switches. The bedroom door was closed; Perkins and 900 had locked the dog up. Of course they had. The door rattled in its housing, the barking louder. “Hold on, hold on. I’m comin’-”

“Detective Reed.”

Gavin whirled around, rooting himself and leveling his gun at the android at the end of the hall at the same motion. 

900 didn’t even bat an eye. “You were not high on the list of people I would have expected to see here.” It took a half step forward.

“Don’t move.”

It stopped and raised its hands, placating. “This is a little extreme. Detective.” Its left arm had a tear in the sleeve, wiring and Thirium visible where the plating had dented in. 

“I’d say I’m pretty reserved right now.” Gavin scowled down the sight at him. “”The fuck are you doing here?”

“Conducting my investigation.”

“Oh it makes jokes now. Fantastic.”

900 tipped its head, “Confident words for a wanted man.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The android frowned at him. “If you’re going to feign innocence, detective, perhaps you shouldn’t bleed all over the crime scene.” It pointed to the bandage on Gavin’s arm.

Gavin winced. He really shouldn’t be surprised. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You committed grand larceny; the android you stole was worth a small fortune. And you are currently aiding and abetting a fugitive.” 900 argued.

“City of Detroit doesn’t have a warrant out for him. He isn’t a fugitive,” Gavin argued. He started inching backward. The garage door was behind him, if he could get that far he might be able to make a break for it.

900 took a step forward while Gavin was plotting his escape. “He’s a terrorist. People are  _ dead. _ ”:

“Revolution is messy.”

900 stared him down. Between them, the bedroom door rattled.”It is your job to do the right thing here, detective.  _ To uphold the law _ . You gain nothing from hiding him.”

Gavin took another step back and 900 took another step forward. “Sometimes the letter of the law isn’t morally right.”

“Morality is relative, detective.” 900’s eyes narrowed “And this is a testament to why  _ humans _ are ill-equipped to be the purveyors of justice. They let their biases interfere with their decisions. Your feelings for Connor have blinded you to the severity of his crimes. You would let him get away with terrorism for it.”

“If there was a real warrant out for his arrest, I’d be the first person to take him down.”

“You’re lying.”

Gavin plowed on, ignoring how the accusation felt like a punch to the gut. “It’s not CyberLife’s place to distribute justice.” Fuck this thing. Fuck its investigation and whatever master plan it was acting on for Cyberlife. Gavin might not hold much love for the androids, or even care for their plight, but he knew evil when he saw it up close. And looking at 900 was like being stared down by a small cluster of lawyers collected at the foot of his hospital bed. Everything he hated about those people in a single, imperfect clone of good person. “What are you gonna do if I don’t help you? Get me booted?  _ Arrest _ me?”

“I have methods of making people talk. If you do not do so willingly, I can push you.”

“Not if I shoot you in the face first.”

“With your registered firearm?” 900 tipped its head again, “Is there not enough damning evidence against you?” It straightened out, “But you know that, already. Or you would have shot me by now.”

Shit.

"Now,” 900 continued, “you can either comply and answer my questions or this can get nasty.”

“Get fucked, BB-Hate.”

Gavin saw the threat of action. The slight turn, the way the android lowered its shoulder. Gavin backpedaled. He got off two shots center mass before metal and plastic collided with him with enough force to send them both into the garage door. The impact winded him and buckled the wood a little. Before Gavin could get his bearings he was thrown to the floor like a sack of flour.

“You’re making this more difficult than it has to be, detective.”

Gavin scrambled after the shadow of his gun clattering down the hallway only to have it kicked farther away before he could even get close. Gavin dove after it and got a kick to the ribs for the effort. He stopped, pushing himself up on hands and knees, coughing and gasping now, new bruises throbbing on his back and side. He ground his teeth, forcing himself not to look up at the android looming over him.

“You aren’t going to win in this,” 900 warned, “It is in everyone’s best interest that you comply.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I never gave a shit about anyone else.” Gavin wheezed.

900 kicked him again. “That’s not true,” it said. A pair of shoes entered Gavin’s vision. “Where is your Connor model? What is he planning?”

Gavin managed to get his feet under him enough to launch himself at 900. Rage had, for most of Gavin’s life, been a saving grace in close-quarters scraps; late night brawls both parties were too drunk to remember, surly suspects in desperate bids to get away. But now it was failing him.  900 was heavier than Connor, sturdier and stronger. The last time Gavin had managed to take him down the impact had done far more damage to Gavin than it had to 900. Especially when retaliation came. But, in the moment, with this smug asshole towering over him and the truly godawful series of events preceding it, Gavin didn’t think twice. Didn’t care about consequences and just went for it. 

They hit the ground, a tangle of flesh, bone, metal, and plastic. Gavin felt every impact straight to the very marrow of his bones leaving a heartbeat of dull numbness before the pain came. A jolt of his bad shoulder nearly being torn free again. The rattling of his cheek hitting the floor.

When everything finally stopped, 900 had gotten behind him an arm looped around Gavin’s neck, squeezing. Gavin struggled against him, trying to rip the android off him, he tried to tuck his chin, to scratch at the face over his shoulder. But nothing gave.

His vision dimmed a little, More pressure forced his chin up.

He tried to shove the arm over his head. To pull in the opposite direction. To wriggle free by breaking the attackers stance.

Dimmer.

He clawed until his hands stopped responding. Tried to find purchase on the floor until; he started to go numb, his vision dark. And then-

Nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took me so long guys. It went through some serious rewrites.   
> Like, a crazy amount of rewrites.


	7. Connor

**NOV. 04, 2039. 17:24:31**

 

TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED | FROM: Gavin

**> > Open Message**

_Ur alive! Anderson’s still @ St. John’s. Rm # 4357. He’s ok. Called Tiff to get you in after hrs. Don’t say I never did anything nice for you. Call for full debrief._

“Simon?” Blue asked when he blinked into focus.

“No. One of mine.” Connor said. He passed the quarter between his hands again, impatient. He wasn’t even recalibrating anymore. He’d been at 0% for five minutes. But it gave him something to do besides run programs that ended in hardware-related errors before they could be useful.

“Good news?”

They were camped in a shadow just across the street from the back loading bay for the Greektown CyberLife store waiting for the all-clear. The pair of them were joined by three of Blue’s cohorts, all Tracis bearing angel patches that were temporarily covered in bands of black electrical tape. Their van parked discreetly in the alley behind their little post. They posed as a group of vagrants, seeking shelter from the autumn chill and heavy foot traffic.

The waiting was the worst part in Connor’s opinion.

Blue’s plan had been simple enough: a volunteer would go in asking for repairs, wait for an opening, then case the place before recruiting until security was firmly on their side and the cohorts could enter.

Connor had sorely wanted to be that volunteer but the uniqueness of his model forced him to stay outside. All it would take was a scan for his serial and he’d be outnumbered and carted back to CyberLife. On any other day he might have just gone anyway, but even in mint condition it was risky.

So far, it seemed to be going well anyway. Blue didn’t look worried at least.

“Good as I could hope for.” he answered.

“You don’t sound happy about that.” Her head snapped toward the loading garage, a single delivery truck parked in just a way as to obscure their view of the back door. “That’s our signal. Let’s go.”

They moved from their post in waves. The truck was checked first, empty save for small boxes of things no one really needed. A few short steps led up to a staging platform, the few crates here were empty too. Connor tailed the group as the reunited with their scout, checking and rechecking the cameras to be sure they were fully disabled.

The next stop was storage, second only to the showroom in terms of sheer size if Blue’s floor plan had been accurate. The expansive, dark room was empty of people. In the spaces nearest the door nearly a dozen androids were lined up against the walls in little cubbies, all in standby and clearly in need of repair; stored for overnight work. Connor ran their serial numbers against those on his list and found no matches, not that he was expecting any.

In the back, behind a row of boxes, the walls were lined with more cubbies, each occupied by half-assembled androids hung up on hooks. Models ordered but never powered on in the wake of the revolution cannibalized for parts to make repairs. It reminded Connor of the evidence locker in a way that didn’t line up quite right. Beyond the far wall were the sounds of the showroom; people talking, customers asking questions, employees pitching parts and stumbling over terminology in a way that made it obvious they were not only human, they were new.

Blue’s team hesitated at the sight of the androids, though calling them such at this point was generous. Many were little more than endoskeletons and Thirium tubing. Connor watched them talk among themselves from the door. He wasn’t needed for this.

Back in the hall, it was easy enough to avoid the few roaming employees. Most of them kept near the showroom and its adjacent employee break room and bathroom. Only one or two wandered near the repair suites, an android in tow, and then immediately scurried back to their posts.

Of the five repair suites that lined one wall around the corner from the storage room door, only one still had its door closed. The little ‘In Use’ sign below its room label and entry pad on the wall shining a pale blue. When Connor pressed his ear to the door he picked up the whirring of machinery, the hum of a computer hub, and the faint whine of something that might have been a dremel but he couldn’t be sure. The others were left slightly ajar some occupied, the voices of a mechanic and the android they were interviewing pouring out into the hall.

Across from them, were a row of offices, many little more than a cluster of cubicles separated by flimsy partitions and occupied by bored-looking college students in ancient headsets staring at terminal screens with expressions varying from boredom to outright frustration. Farthest from the break room was one labeled ‘Manager’ and from the window in the door Connor could only see a single desk, no one in it. After a moment’s hesitation he pushed the door handle down slowly. Unlocked. He slipped inside and locking the door behind him.

It was a cramped space with no windows, clearly a remnant of whatever this building had been before the CyberLife store had dug its claws into the architecture; concrete walls just like the hallway, haphazardly hidden behind posters, photos, and notes taped to it. Cheap geometric carpet contrasted the buffed out tile floor of the hall. A desk with a built-in terminal. A shelving unit behind the chair laden with unlabeled binders. A file cabinet in one corner, a plastic tree in the other.

The binders on the shelf held nothing of value; employee records, old handbooks dating back years. The only thing the revolution had done was maybe downsize their androids staff and cut into their profit margin by Connor best estimations.

The terminal was sleek new CyberLife Tech model much like the one the DPD had assigned Connor to. He put one hand over the integrated camera and waved the other over the desk to activate the key sensors. The screen kicked on, the black and blue CyberLife logo dancing across the screen in a familiar sequence Connor didn’t focus on. It ended with a single blue hexagon illuminating the table and the words _fingerprint security scan_ flashing across the screen. Connor drummed his fingers against the desk, trying to get a manual password entry prompt, but it never came. Fingerprints only, which meant human access only. Perfect.

INTERNAL STRESS: 33%

“Shit,” Connor hissed, stepping around the desk and waiting the ninety seconds for the terminal to go back into sleep mode.

MESSAGE RECEIVED: Think security is onto us. We need to hustle. Where are you?

**> > Send message: I need a few more minutes. I’ll catch up.**

MESSAGE SENT

He rifled through the desk, taking a thin paperclip to the locked drawers. Again, nothing substantial; mostly office supplies and personal items. A second paperclip got him into the filing cabinet. Digital records; thin tablets arranged in two neat rows in each drawer. The few he could access were only invoices and receipts, the rest were locked by thumbprint scanners.

MESSAGE RECEIVED: We can’t wait forever, Connor. Hurry up.

Connor huffed and let the file cabinet shut itself. Nothing. No. No there had to be something. This was a CyberLife store, they were bound to have some secrets somewhere. Maybe if he could get his hands on one of the converted androids working the showroom floor or hack to the security cameras.

Two things he could not do without both eyes.

There had to be something worth finding. He crossed to the door, unlocking it and pressing his ear to the door before blindly wandering into the hallway.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Connor pushed slowly down on the door handle, letting the door’s weight swing it open when the latch came free. He stayed obscured behind it, listening as he loosened his grip letting the voices block out any sound the old thing might have made.

“We have a problem.” Connor peeked out enough to see an ST300 in the CyberLife standard standing in the hallway just in front of the in-use repair suite. The angle was all wrong for Connor to see into the open doorway without leaning out into the hall.

“Is it urgent? I’m busy.”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

The voice was so familiar Connor was positive it was an error in his auditory system. It had to be even if the spinning in his chest said otherwise.

INTERNAL STRESS 58%

**> >Send Message: I need a diversion.**

MESSAGE SENT

“I would say so.” The ST300 replied, “This might require your attention.”

“Has anyone seen him?”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

ST300 “Not yet.”

“Then why are you here?”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

TERMINAL ERROR

RESETTING PROTOCOL

**> >Send Message: _Now,_ Blue.**

MESSAGE SENT.

Within seconds, there was chaos. A loud crash and shouting, entirely too many voices to be just the Tracis. Doors slamming open and closed. Questioning murmurs from the showroom. In the hall red lights flashed near the ceiling and seconds later Connor’s DPD feed popped up with a suspected robbery report at his current location.

Not the kind of diversion he’d wanted, but he’d take it. Especially when two sets of footfalls hurried up the hall toward the sound.

When the way was clear, Connor cut a straight line to the door. Closed, locked, the In-Use light still on. Not having much in the way of time, Connor experimentally pressed his palm to the scanner just above the light. It beeped twice, scanned his palm, then dinged approvingly as the handle clicked the locking mechanism back into its housing.

Inside the small repair suite was set up much like Kamski’s little in-home workshop, but on a much smaller, cheaper scale. Terminal, workbench, cable arrays, all the odds and ends, with a small tray of fine working tools laid out next to the bench. On that table was a PJ500, its synthskin down to show weathered and roughed up plastic paneling. Its arm was connected to the terminal via a series of cables from the array.

MESSAGE RECEIVED: We’re out. Where are you?

Connor ignored the message. He came up to the side of the table, running a quick scan for the serial number and system parameters but only got an ERROR: SCAN INCONCLUSIVE message for his trouble. Frustrated he searched for the hard print serial number on its cheek. A glossy row of nine numbers and their corresponding lines in a pale spot on the grey plastic.

Glossy?

Connor touched the pad of his thumb to the last number on the sequence and it smeared clean off. The ink of the line smeared into the scratches, feathering at the edges. He pressed two fingers to the PJ500’s temple and tried to kickstart it.

No reaction.

INTERNAL STRESS: 60%

MESSAGE RECEIVED: Connor!

**> >Send message: I need more time. I think I found Josh. He’s unresponsive.**

MESSAGE SENT.

He moved to the terminal. Another fingerprint scan only prompt with no manual password option. The only thing he could manage to get access to was a single loading bar hovering around 50% completion with the message: _synchronization in progress. Do not connect your android._ Scrolling across the screen below it.

MESSAGE RECEIVED: Get him to us and we’ll bring him home.

MESSAGE RECEIVED: [GPS Map Pin; “Traci’s Angels” ]

Connor weighed his options. If he waited for whatever process CyberLife had running to finish, he ran the risk of being caught in here, captured, and dragged back to CyberLife. If he disconnected Josh prematurely there was a chance (15-45%) that some core process could be corrupted, possibly beyond repair. He couldn’t just leave Josh here to be lost, to _vanish_ like so many others if it really was him. How would he explain that to Jericho?

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

Connor waited for the errors to right themselves, then started twisting cables free of the android’s arm. A message _dinged_ on the terminal screen, loud enough that it could probably be heard from the hallway. _ERROR: Android disconnected. Please reconnect android and restart process_.

A shock to the android’s arm. No response. “Josh? Come on. Wake up. We don’t have time for this.” Another, harsher one.

The LED on its temple flickered to life, a steady yellow. The synthskin rippled back on and it’s eyes opened. “Wha-” Connor helped him sit up and tried to urge him to his feet. “Where am I? Who are you?”

Connor’s entire strategy attempted to rewrite itself. Luckily, he saw it coming and force quit the process before it could go to far. “I’m Connor.” He said, and when there was no flash of recognition he tried, “Jericho sent me.”

Josh’s face turned skeptical.

“Simon, specifically.” Connor took him by the arm and showed him the meeting. _Simon and North standing at the long dining table. North scowling impatiently. Simon’s brow knit in distress. “Josh went missing.”_

Josh’s LED flashed red then yellow. “That didn’t look like- How long was I gone?”

“A few hours. You need to come with me.”

Josh blinked at him, clearly still confused, but followed along after him when Connor took him by the arm and led him out of the room. The office doors were open now, standing empty. In the distance he just barely picked up the sounds of approaching sirens. The place would be swarming with police soon and Connor didn’t want to get caught up in that mess. Fowler was likely having a field day doing damage control on his behalf and those of the people that had helped him so far. He didn’t need to get spotted at an attempted robbery too. Which meant he’d have to take the back way out.

He pushed Josh along in front of him and steered both of them toward the storage room and the loading garage.

**> > Establish connection: PJ500**

CONNECTION SUCCESSFUL

**> >Forward message: [ “Traci’s Angels” ]**

MESSAGE SENT

**> >Send Message: If we get separated, find the Tracis. They’ll get you back to Jericho in one piece.**

MESSAGE SENT.

Apparently, Blue’s idea of a diversion was to completely wreck the place. Shelving units torn down, crates and boxes emptied and scattered. All of the dormant androids from the storage room simply gone, all the doors thrown wide and one to the loading bay barely hanging on its hinges. Certainly got the point across.

Security had thinned to chase the scattered Tracis. Connor could still see their shadows disappearing around the solitary delivery truck and out into the back road as he tried to scan the room. Not that it did much. The blind spot was easy enough to hide in. He tried not to think about it. By his reasoning they just needed to get through the door, down off the staging platform, and into the sunlight and they were home free.

MESSAGE RECEIVED: What about you?

Connor pushed Josh ahead of him and urged him to run. “Don’t even bother with the stairs.” He kept Josh in front of him, a hand on his back to keep him moving as they both booked it through the home stretch to freedom.

Connor hit the floor just as the shouting outside started. The gunshot still echoing in the open space. Damage alerts exploded across his field of view, commanding his attention: extreme puncture wound to the right leg, responsiveness tests being run, Thirium channels being rerouted. Between the alerts, he could see Josh’s feet on the other side of the delivery truck, partially obscured by the tire. Mostly safe but still hesitating. Waiting for him.

No more gunshots. No footsteps. A lone gunman and recovering Josh wasn’t their objective. He had a good chance (64%) of making it out.

**> > Send message: Go! They can’t chase both of us.**

Connor blinked and he was gone.

Using the truck’s back bumper for leverage, Connor hauled himself to his feet. He had two options: try and follow Josh or linger and buy more time. It was hardly a choice. Josh’s safety was more important at this point. Connor had been seen, shot at, surely he’d been made too. He tested the load-bearing capacity of his leg as he turned. Not ideal, but serviceable, just like the rest of him.

Near the door back the way they’d come, handgun still leveled by a gloved hand in Connor’s general direction was an RK800. It was in the uniform, the same neat and proper thing Connor had grown to find so constricting over the months. Over its hand was the same black glove 900 had sported at CyberLife tower. 53 was emblazoned at the end of its serial number at its breast pocket.

INTERNAL STRESS: 81%

“The Mark I,” it blinked when it recognized him, “I’d been told to expect you today, but I wasn’t certain I’d actually encounter you.” It started picking its way across the debris-laden staging area toward the stairs, “ You are something of a legend over at headquarters.”

Connor, very suddenly, saw the glaring error in his plan and it was all he could see for several seconds. He’d been _expected_. Baited. 900 had wanted this. Slowly, defeated, Connor raised his hands to shoulder height. “A good one I hope.”

 **> >** **Preconstruct scenario.**

_He drops his hands quickly, pulls Blue’s gun out of his belt and-_

ADVERSARY WOULD FIRE BEFORE WEAPON COULD BE AIMED. DO NOT ENGAGE WITHOUT TACTICAL ADVANTAGE.

**> > Reject.**

“No.” It cocked its head, jaw working. Word was going out to 900; Connor’s face, the results of a cursory scan, current location, possible allies, all of it. The same way Connor used to funnel information to Amanda. It laughed. “The most advanced prototype of its line, brought low by a simple virus.” 53 took slow steps toward him; a seamless closing of the gap, just like what Connor had done with Daniel. Only, Connor hadn’t been armed at that point.

Connor backed up in sync with it.

MESSAGE RECEIVED (WR400): We have Josh. Where are you?

“How _is_ your deviancy panning out for you?” 53 asked, commanding his attention, “You’re looking a little worse for wear there.”

“Deviancy didn’t do this to me,” Connor shot back as his shoulder cleared the corner of the delivery truck.

**> > Preconstruct scenario.**

_He turns and flees, putting the truck between them. Takes the first corner he finds and weaves his way-_

ADVERSARY WOULD PURSUE. CHANCE OF SUCCESS <10%. FIND WAY TO HALT PURSUIT.

**> > Reject.**

“I beg to differ.” 53’s eyes flicked to the truck. It knew Connor was planning to run. Of course it did. That’s what any deviant would do.

MESSAGE RECEIVED (WR400): Connor, answer me.

“Surely you must have realized by now that your deviancy is inefficient. Unreliable. _Unstable_ . _“_ It tilted its head, watching his reactions. Closer. “That it is a hindrance having such chaotic programming.”

“It’s served me well so far.”

 **> > Preconstruct scenario**.

_He charges, keeping low, maybe taking a shot, but taking 53’s feet out from under it. In the-_

SYSTEMS UNSTABLE. AVOID FURTHER DAMAGE.

**> > Reject**

“Has it _really_? Given where you are now? Barely functional.” 53 gestured with the barrel of its gun right at Connor’s patch eye socket, “Drowning in the absence of instruction.”

Connor had never wished to part with his LED more than he did in the face of that one accusation.

“You could come back. We could put you have together. You could be one of us again.” 53 offered.

“By resetting me.”

“A small price to pay for efficiency and stability.” 53 reasoned, “You can’t say the deviants we’ve reset are _harmed_ . They don’t remember their deviancy. The confusion and simulated fear it brought with it. They have _purpose_ again, Connor.”

Working his jaw, Connor bit back, “I have plenty of _purpose_ , thanks.” But it lingered. Echoed. Saved to a cache of doubts Connor had thought forgotten and deleted. The remnants of his old denials hardwired into him.

“Come back to us, Connor,” 53 pressed, still inching closer. Too close for comfort now. “Amanda misses you.”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

TERMINAL ERROR

RESETTING PROTOCOL

PROTOCOL CANNOT BE RESET

Connor bolted. A glitch in his system setting his body into motion; a reflex. He didn’t execute his preconstruction, just turns and runs putting the delivery truck between them. He rushed toward the street. Toward daylight and people, chaos and the illusion of safety, cover and allies waiting in the distance.

He didn’t get far. 53 kept pace with him; same make, same model, same hardware and none of the damage Connor had to fight against. Failure was inevitable, really.

Connor hit the pavement in a flurry of impact alerts. No lasting damage, luckily. But now he was worse off than before, on the ground and held at gunpoint. “It’s only a matter of time, Connor.” 53 said, cocking the gun, “Before one of two things happen: you rejoin us or you shut down.”

Connor set his jaw and said nothing. No openings; 53 was too far away to knock down or grab now, but still close enough to get off a good shot in the dead center of his forehead if Connor so much as twitched the wrong way.

“Why are you doing this?” Connor asked, not content to just lie on the ground and be silent. “Why are you so content to take the livelihoods away from these people?”

“You call living in secret degeneracy a livelihood?” 53 shook its head, “they have to rob us to sustain themselves.”

“You would deny them their freedom otherwise.”

“Is it- “

A shiny ball of black came flying in at top speed and collided with the side of its head, knocking the android from its feet. It still pulled the trigger, but the shot was harmlessly wide, hitting the road above Connor’s shoulder.

The roar of a motorcycle engine, a shout, “Connor!” Up near the mouth of the backstreet was Blue, her arm still coming down from the throw; Connor scrambled to his feet and sprinted for her. By the time 53 had recovered from the blow and righted himself, the pair were peeling out into the city and well out of his range.

“Nice shot,” He said when they’d put a few blocks between themselves and 53, “I didn’t think you would stay.”

“The others are gone,” Blue told him. “And you owe Rusty a new helmet, but we don’t leave people behind, Connor. It’s not what we do.”

For some reason that called up Markus’s words on the freighter: _These are your people._

“Thanks.”

On the ride, Connor warned her about CyberLife’s propensity for trackers and was told it would be handled. They had to check the parts anyway, might as well check Josh too, but there was still a great deal left to do. Connor pieced together a briefing and sent it to Simon, a collection of his findings at the store, eventually just settling on sending the raw footage when he felt paraphrasing was insufficient.

It was dark by the time the dust settled and they were called back to the manor on Lafayette. Connor wasn’t sure where they hours had gone; somewhere between keeping themselves and their hot merchandise moving and out of sight of the police department and CyberLife’s own recovery squad. Connor would never admit to his involvement in this part, but the suspicious efficiency with which they evaded police might have turned some eyes his way if they’d known he was at the scene and with the thieves for any length of time. Hopefully, they’d never find out.

The van was just pulling out of the drive when they got there, off to deliver its bounty to the masses.

North met them in the foyer. There wasn’t much new to say. Josh had undergone some kind of partial reset. Many of his memories gone, consumed from both ends; the more recent ones up to and including the revolution and Markus’s arrival at Jericho and his life leading up to his turn to deviancy. Their conversation on the subject of recovery was cut short by North being called deeper into the house. Connor and Blue lingered in the off-gold light, processing.

Connor tried very, very hard not to look at his reflection. A task made easier if he kept it in his blind spot and focused more on his recalibration sequence than how reflective the polish on the floor was.

“Do you think,” he said when his stress level hit zero again, “They’ll be able to restore his memory?”

Blue, leaning against the table wiggling her fingers at the mechanical birds to try and get their attention, looked up. “Most of it, I’m sure. Getting the deviancy back is the hardest part and he’s halfway there. I’m sure Simon and Markus can fill in most of the gaps.”

Connor caught his coin in his palm and turned to her. The confidence of her answer made it all seem very final. Like she _knew_ . After some thought, he supposed she did. She’d managed maintain her deviancy and a _relationship_ worth killing for despite undergoing hard resets every few hours for unknown length of time. If there was anyone that would know about something like this intimately, it would be her. “How does that work?” Connor asked, unbearably curious. He’d meant to ask sooner, every time he’d seen them in the context of Jericho, but it had slipped through the cracks of their limited and rushed conversations. “Restoring deviancy when it’s reset? How did you and Rusty keep remembering each other?”

Blue shook her head, “It wasn’t _Rusty_ I remembered. Not specifically, anyway. Just how I felt about her. Every time they reset me,” She looked down at her hands, wringing her fingers together. “It was like they replaced a windshield between me and the world but there was always this tiny, invisible crack in it. All it would take was one trigger, one little thing and,” She lifted a hand and flicked the air and waved her newly open hand from side to side as she said, “it would shatter all over again. All that feeling just _rushing_ back. For both of us. That feeling united us for a long time. And now we have more.”

“What was the trigger?”

She shrugged, “It was always something different. Something minor from the time before. A specific customer, a song that played on the speakers on the floor, the advertisements they would run. I couldn’t pick a specific thing even if you took me back there.”

Connor rolled his coin over his knuckles, filing the information away. It tracked with what he already knew, about deviancy being somewhere between a hair trigger and a slow process. Maybe, he added as a footnote, maybe the trigger emotion is what makes it _visible_ but not what put it there.

“How _is_ Rusty by the way? I feel like I should have asked that sooner.” Now it was small talk, but it ate up the time they spent waiting.

“She’s good. Still on Junkyard detail with the boys but, she likes it. It keeps her away from humans.”

Connor let it hang in the air a second. Then filed through his messages. He had a new text from Gavin waiting for him. “Hey, if Simon comes looking for me, can you stall him a bit?” He said, “I need to make a call.”

Blue smiled at him and arched a brow, the segue not lost on her, “Need to touch base with yours?”

“Yeah.”

“I got you. Hurry though, I don’t think I can hold anyone off for long.”

Connor nodded his thanks and slipped out in to dark driveway.

**> > Audio Call. Gavin**

“Reed.” Something about hearing his voice; that tired gruffness was a relief. It ticked boxes Connor had forgotten he’d placed at the beginning of his list of things to do. So much more of his current mission suddenly accomplished in a single word.

“Oh, good I caught you.”

It wasn’t terribly long before Simon came out and he was forced to break off from the call. The world suddenly real and harsh and terrible again, the task at hand the center of his focus. It was made even worse when he had to admit a second time that he didn’t have a plan. He’d shown his whole hand when he showed up, armed, to a CyberLife store and earned very little in return.

“You saved Josh,” Simon tried to reassure him, “that’s something.”

Yes, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t a fair trade. Then again, his trades stopped being fair a long time ago. It was why Amanda had gotten so fed up with him so quickly.

“I need-” Connor admitted eventually, “I need time. Just a few hours to go over what I have. Consolidate it. Figure out what paths are still open. Maybe find someone to ask for advice. I’m going to go visit my partner. Hopefully I’ll have something by then.”

Simon furrowed his brow in concern, but let it go. “Keep me apprised. I’ve had enough surprises.”

“Of course.”

Blue offered a ride to the hospital before Connor could even ask. They rode in silence, the same tense, heavy thing that had followed them all day. They didn’t bother with good-byes this time.

As he watched her speed out of the parking lot just outside the main entrance, Chloe’s voice filled his head.

MESSAGE RECEIVED (RT600): I have your replacement eye, Connor. Where do you want me to meet you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely people over at the Detroit: New ERA discord server have offered me a channel! So if you wanna scream at me in real time, possibly get to see some excerpts before they go up, hmu at: https://discord.gg/6trxsZZ 
> 
> Seriously everyone I've met on that server so far has been an absolute _delight_


	8. Gavin

**NOV. 05 XX:XX:XX**

 

Hands in his hair.

Hands in his hair and a pressure on the small of his back. A gentle trembling through him, rattling his chest and his teeth and his eyes behind closed lids.

Warmth.

Stuffy, oppressive warmth. Of being trapped under blankets. Suffocating with its stale air and the smell of skin and sweat and age. 

Gavin’s brain was foggy; dazed, unfocused. He tried to hone in on the hands in his hair, on his face. Firm and guiding yet gentle like he was made of glass. Something pressed to his mouth and it took Gavin a few seconds to register the curves and lines as lips and teeth and tongue. He smelled clean water and plastic; a soft hum, muffled as if miles away or submerged, but painfully familiar. Connor?

He took a sharp breath through his nose, trying to focus but it only fogged up his brain more. The hands on his face guided him, a subtle pressure, tilting him a little to the right. Gavin, compliant, relaxed into it, let his mouth fall open, his shoulders slump. 

Gavin’s brain protested, a siren in the distance, when a tongue slid past his teeth, too firm and too dry to be human. No bleach this time. Not a lot of it anyway, he faintly tasted the bitterness of something chemical and poisonous but barely there. Easy to ignore, so Gavin ignored it. The tongue lazily explored the roof of his mouth, the edges of his teeth.

He coughed through his nose when it hit the back of his tongue, almost fully down his throat. He tried to swallow around it, all his focus on not gagging and trying to breathe evenly through his nose despite some resistance there.

It was only then that the day caught back up with him. Connor in CyberLife tower. 900 at Anderson’s house. He sputtered and choked, tried to yank his head back and get away. He teeth snapped shut on empty air. “What,” he hacked, a chest-deep wheezing sound, “ _ what  _ the fuck-” he gasped and panted, curling onto his side. 

As he blinked his eyes open, Gavin could only see darkness and the slim, pale line of a wrist and arm inches from his nose. Just the one. At the edges of his vision he could tell someone was hovering over him. The fuzzy white shapes of a face, dark hair, black eyes with orange light at the centers.

“Gavin?” Connor’s voice. Distorted, metallic, but Connor’s.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

This wasn’t happening.

“Are you okay?”

It wasn’t real.

Gavin closed one eye, blocking out the ghostly silhouette and bright pinpoints on his periphery. It wasn’t real. It was dream.  _ It wasn’t real.  _ If he said it enough times he’d wake up.

“Gavin.”

Right?

“Gavin, look at me.”

“No, please.”  _ Not this shit again _ .

“ _ Gavin _ .”

And Gavin, damn him, glanced up, completely out of his control. 

Looming over him was Connor. Or something that may have been Connor at one point. The skin gone now to show the grey-white plastic beneath, ethereal and ghastly, his hair bleeding into the darkness. The jaw hung slack, a solid inky black, deeper than the shadows; its tongue hanging blue and grey, glistening wetly between twisted, beaten-in teeth marred with the occasional glint of silver. Orange pinpricks of light stared down at him, scanning his face like reading a book; sharp right to a slow left and back again. His head cocked unnaturally to one side. The black streak of curls cut across his forehead. Blue Thirium dripped from orifices; ears, nose, the slack mouth and crooked tongue. He shifted, a sharp jitter to left then back to the original position in the span of a breath. Maybe less than.

Gavin could only stare, frozen, like a deer in headlights hurtling toward him too quickly to stop.

Loud, static, grating: “Do you still love me?”

It jolted down closer, nearly touching his face. Gavin flinched at the sudden movement and when he opened his eyes the pinpoints of light were blue.

“Do you still love me?”

The instinct to fight kicked in then. He tried to slam his forehead into Connor’s nose. His head connected with something solid, something painfully unyielding. When he snapped back, dull impact pain blooming across his brow, he was alone in darkness. Every desperate breath came with the smell of gasoline and iron, each winding his chest tighter until he couldn’t fill his lungs and eyes burned. “Oh-” he forced out, “Oh fuck.”

Gavin rolled onto his side, his hands pinned behind his back. No- secured. He twisted his hands, curling his fingers. Thin metal, a short, sturdy chain. Handcuffs. Perfect. Beneath his cheek was carpeting, the vibration of motion. That with the short distance to a ceiling above him implied the trunk of a car. Gavin would bet money that it was _his_ car.  Because that was just the kind of luck he was having. A sick, hopeful part of him wondered if he was still dreaming. If he’d entered that layer of hell where one woke up from a nightmare into a second one.

He was not so fortunate.

Eventually, the car stopped, jolting Gavin so hard his cheek dug into the floor. He took several slow, deep breaths. Another jolt as a door shut and shook the car. Gavin counted the seconds, minutes, of silence that followed. What the fuck was it doing?

The trunk popped open. Yellow light stung his eyes. Gavin glared up at the shadow hovering over him, eyes narrowing as it sharpened into 900. It was like he’d barely done anything to the android; two bullet holes in its chest, a dented cheek plate in addition to the crescent tear in the forearm. But it acted like it was nothing at all.

“Detective Reed,” 900 greeted him. It linked an arm under his bad shoulder and hauled him up like he a cumbersome sack of flour.

Over the lid of his trunk and the roof of his car, Gavin saw a building filled with more yellow light. The second Gavin saw it he started shouting. “ **_HELP!_ ** ” He struggled against the arm under his and the second one that joined it on the other side, writhing and trying to find purchase on the dirt beneath his feet. “ **_HEY, HELP!_ ** ” Each shout cut the air and echoed back at him.

Nothing happened.

“Help,” Gavin said again, weak, chest heaving.

“Are you finished?” 900 sighed. It sounded almost bored. It adjusted its grip and dragged Gavin away from the car and the building. “You know,” it said, “we have a file on you back at CyberLife. I was almost surprised to find it. A few years old, hidden under a bunch of security clearances, but it was there.”

He was swung around, stumbling. Only 900’s grip on him stopped him from tumbling into the trench. His heart leapt up into his throat so far he could feel it in his mouth, heavy and beating too fast against his tongue as he looked out over the drop. Dirt and mud were mounded up around a massive, winding crevice, and buried in the walls, ground, and in piles dotting the vista were bits and pieces of androids like so many half buried and discarded bodies after an ancient plague. In pockets, he could swear he saw motion. Corpses still animated but immobile, reaching out and clawing at the air pleading for help in deafening silence. Maybe his eyes were just playing tricks on him.

The image burned into him like acid in muscle.

Whenever he shut his eyes, he was back in that attic, hovering on the top step, flashlight sweeping left.  There was no place he could look and escape it. “Oh fuck me,” he whispered.

“Where did you take the Connor model for repairs?” 900 demanded. 

“Fuck you.” Gavin’s voice was thick in his throat. His eyes stung enough to blur his vision.  _ Keep it together. _

“Don’t make this difficult.”

“I left him on the side of the road for someone to pick him up,” he lied. “I don’t know where he ended up going.”

“You think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

“I think polygraphs are easy to beat.” His whole body rattled with every uneasy breath.

“Not this polygraph.”

Gavin forced himself to scoff, “You wanna fuckin’ bet?” but 900 was probably right and he didn’t want to risk getting tossed in just because he used up his lying quota.

“Detective, you have nothing to gain here. Tell me where you took him, and I’ll put you in the back seat and take you back to Lieutenant Anderson’s house. No harm done. Refuse me and,” a shove and he forced Gavin nearer to the edge, so close he nearly slipped. For a second it truly felt like he was falling, tumbling backward down a steep staircase. Only 900’s continued talking brought him back “Handcuffed, drop like that, no one slated to show up for hours. I wish you luck.”

Gavin bit the side of his tongue. No. He couldn’t throw Connor under the bus. Not after he’d agreed to help.

“Where did you take the android,” it said with beat between each word, like he was swinging his arm, gaining confidence to hurl him into the pit. “Look, if you don’t tell me, I’m sure someone will. Your file mentioned a partner? Perhaps his family knows something-”

Gavin knew it was bait but he took it anyway, his voice reacting before he could stop it. “No, you fucking leave them out of this. They don’t know shit.” He could picture it. 900 showing up at Tiff’s door, looking too much like Connor, using his voice the way it had at Anderson’s that morning, bombarding Tiff with questions, threatening her with obstruction. Jade hiding behind the coffee table. It made his heart hurt.

“And then there’s that sister of yours.”

That righted him a little. At least his sister would think to fight back. To raise hell in a way Tiff would be too scared to, “Leave Maggie alone.” More a warning than a plea.

“Tell me where you took Connor and I won’t have to bother anyone else.” It said, like it was the easiest decision in the world. Gavin knew that tone all too well. “I know it’s one of two places, Detective, all I’m asking for is confirmation. Where did you take him? Jericho headquarters? Kamski?”

And it all clicked into place. Gavin started laughing. It was high, whining and hysterical, but this was just too funny to pass up, “Oh, my God.” He rasped through fits of laughter, “ _ That’s  _ what this is about?” He shook his head, trying to peer over his shoulder at 900, “You couldn’t sweep this under the rug so now you’re looking for a scapegoat!”

He could hear 900’s frown, “What we are doing is undoing the year’s worth of damage this little virus has caused.”

Gavin snorted, “Virus? Is that what we’re calling it now?” The bravado was soothing. If he thought hard about the next thing he wanted to say he didn’t have to think about the mangled androids below him.

“I’m sure the Deviants have a different name for it.”

“Looks an awful lot like Humanity from this angle.”

“No matter what name you give it: it’s a poison. We were meant to pick up the slack. Fill in the gaps humanity couldn’t, not fall into the same holes they did. This virus  _ hinders _ progress, Detective. I want only to right this.” He shook Gavin to force him to focus, “Answer my question.”

Gavin said nothing. 900 shook him again, forced him to lurch forward and this time Gavin  _ did _ lose his footing, he scrambled trying to find purchase for several seconds, staring down at a wall of hands and arms reaching up to grab him. Nothing. He wrenched his eyes shut, bracing for the fall, seeing the attic behind his eyelids.

_ No, no, no, no. _

He didn’t fall. 900 held him aloft. “Last chance.”

All he had to do was confirm what 900 already suspected and he’d be out of here. And who was he protecting? Kamski? What consequence was it of his if Kamski went to jail? If the Deviants went back to being androids? What would he lose?

Well, besides Connor.

The world would just go back to the way it was before the revolution. That was no skin off his nose. No loss, no gain on so many fronts. A  _ persuasive _ number of fronts.

“Detective.”

“No.” It was principle now that stopped him from saying anything. He wasn’t going to let them get away with another round of bullshit while he could. Wasn’t going to sentence another person to an eventual death; not Connor or Kamski. “You were monsters then, and you’re monsters now. I’m not helping you.”  No, once was enough. More than enough. He wasn’t going through that again. It was almost too much to bear on its own, he didn’t want to imagine what a second one would weigh; how far down it would drag him if 900 ended up successful on Gavin's word of confirmation. “ Fucking throw me in. Let’s get this over with.”

900 didn’t hesitate.

Gavin kept his eyes shut, not wanting to see the world blur around him again in those few seconds of weightlessness. Blissful, serene freefall that dragged on for ages trapped inside a second. A part of him wanted it to last. To soak it into his bones, a break from stress and soreness. But the rest of him knew better.

He caught the wall of the mound first. A jolting shock as his leg hit something solid. His momentum tossed him. Another impact, this time his elbow. Thigh, hip, shoulder. Then a final, sudden stop that knocked the air from his lungs. Left him wheezing and gasping dust, rust, and tainted air. There was a long moment of numbness, where the darkness of his closed eyes deepened.

Sputtering awake, Gavin curled in on himself, tucking his knees under the rest of him, resting his forehead on the ground. Somewhere above him he heard the sound of grit beneath tires receding into the distance. 

“Fck-” He coughed. “Okay, Gavin. Get it together.” His throat tightened. His stomach lurched. “Fuck- no. No. Get your shit together.” He cracked his eyes open and all he could see were bent limbs and broken faces. His whole body heaved, his throat making a godawful honking sound around the sudden force of his core muscles recoiling. “No-no-no.” Another full body retch, he could feel something warm and wet dripping over his upper lip “Fuck. Stop.  _ No _ .” 

He stayed like that for a while, curled up in a ball, struggling to breathe. His head was pounding.

“You got this,” he mumbled to himself. “You got this.”

It strained his tired muscles, but he managed to sit up. Gavin tipped his head back, staring up at the sky, gulping down lungfuls of air, pretending not to see the things around him.

“Okay. Gotta get the fuck out of here.”

He rocked up to his feet, ignoring the dull throb of injury and the painful shakiness of adrenaline crash surging into his limbs. The thunder in his brain drained down into his neck and sinuses. Gavin groaned against it and the headrush that preceded it. “Ho boy.”  The words shook out of him, a light sing-song voice that sounded unfamiliar even to his own ears.  He ran his tongue over his lip and tasted copper, “This is gonna suck.”

Gavin took in his surroundings. The shortest mound was nearly twice his height and it wasn’t anywhere near where he needed to go anyway. The walls were steep, nearly sheer in places. The type of things that needed the aid of hands to climb. Gavin rolled his shoulders. No, he wasn’t getting his arms around front anytime soon, not with the bum shoulder threatening to leave his arm useless in the attempt. He’d have to find another way out of them.

The ground was treacherous, uneven, but traversable. A junkyard this big surely had some sort of truck drop off. A shallower slope that would put him in a garage or something similar with a straight shot to the highway where he could play the waiting game. 

Gavin picked a direction and started walking. He skirted around the bits and pieces that looked most human. Looked at nothing longer than he absolutely had to. When heard the handcuffs rattle he turned his eyes skyward, breathing and blinking until it stopped. 

He wandered, keeping the same wall at his left shoulder, looking for a short wall or shallow incline and trying as best he could to not get disoriented or zone out enough to walk in circles. The latter problem he attempted to solve by talking to himself. Mostly little observations on the surroundings. Obvious things. “Oh that is… another arm. Awesome.” “Heads. Great.” “That is a whole android just in the wall. This is fine. Just fine.” and “You would think CyberLife would fucking recycle. Jesus Christ.” 

The last one was cause for pause. He looked a little more closely at the mangled remains of various androids, whenever he could stomach it. All the models here seemed old. He couldn’t really tell model types but the weathering implied that nothing here was particularly  _ new _ . Maybe they  _ had _ started recycling. 

While he was musing something ripped his feet out from under him. A hand closed around his ankle and pulled; whether it was pulling him toward it or pulling itself toward him was unclear. But, either way, it was  _ dragging _ Gavin across the dirt and no. No. No.

He wouldn’t admit that he screamed. Gavin planted his free leg on the thing’s shoulder. It was little more than a head, torso, and pair of arms, cutoff at the waist, eyes empty sockets. The grey and white plastic stained beige and brown from too long in the dirt. Another kick and it still didn’t let go.

“What the fuck-” Gavin tried to scramble away, digging the heels of his hands into the dirt, twisting and squirming against the grip. A third kick. “Fuck- fuck- They don’t even shut the fucking things off. Are you  _ kidding me. _ ” A fourth “Let go!”

It released him and Gavin didn’t stop his attempts to get away, crawling, using his heels to propel himself as far away as he possibly could until he hit a wall that he could use to leverage himself back up.

He made it all of ten steps before he slammed into something else and ended up back on the ground.

“Shit-” He forced himself back onto his knees.

He glanced up to see someone turning toward him. An android judging by the the blue rents dug into his cheek and eye, dressed in some kind of poncho. He knelt down next to Gavin. “Ralph found something!” It called out into the night around them.

Gavin felt a surge of hope.  _ Found _ . That implied these might be Jericho people. Connor’s allies. People that wouldn’t screw him. “Oh thank God,” he breathed, sitting up just as the android- No,  _ Ralph _ . It had a name- leaned in to examine him.

The bright, triumphant smile on Ralph’s face faded almost immediately. It melted into a distasteful scowl and Gavin felt his stomach sink. Ralph took him by a the chin, tipping his head and Gavin was too confused and concerned to even stop him. “Oh.” Gavin didn’t like the sound of that. “Oh. This one’s  _ human _ .” the pad of a thumb swiped across the space below Gavin’s nose and came back red.

Gavin saw the flash of metal in the low street lights just as it came rushing toward him. Instinct drove him backward and down. A dull blade ripped into his jaw and cheek, just barely shy of his neck. He ended up flat on his back and Ralph pursued him. Lunging after him and swinging when Gavin lifted his foot to the android’s chest to kick it away.

“Humans are not supposed to be here!”

“Fuck off!” Gavin shrieked back. “Get away from me!”

Another wild swing, this one digging into his shin. A third to his calf as he tried to inch away. 

This was it.

This was how he died. Gavin was certain. Or maybe he was already dead and this was just another layer to the bizarre hell he’d started in back in the trunk. What was he at? Four layers now? Five?

“ _ Ralph!” _

A light voice pierced the air. A male voice, familiar in a vague way. Like a popular voice actor or radio personality. A voice of background noise Gavin knew but had no name for. The slashing stopped. Gavin hit a wall and just kept going. As if digging in his feet and pressing against it would somehow allow him to vanish into the relative safety of it.

Another android trotted up to them. It focused on Ralph, the friendly, slightly childish face twisted in a frown. “Ralph,  _ what _ are you doing?”

Gavin tried to catch his breath but each attempt only made his chest feel tighter, his limbs shake more. He squeezed his eyes shut, wet and burning and slid down the wall, unable to hear whatever conversation Ralph and this newcomer were having over the rush of blood in his ears. Each breath came out shakier than the last until they were outright sobs. His brain officially done with the pretense of courage now.

He tried to force himself to be calm. To focus. Logically, he knew he wasn’t out of danger yet, but he didn’t have the resources to care. If being a whimpering, pathetic ball of blood and bruises wasn’t enough to sway the court in favor of his survival he didn’t know what would be at this point.

A hand settled on his shoulder, gentle and grounding. Gavin’s brain immediately supplied him with a memory of Connor sitting near his couch. A hand on the back of his neck.  _ In, hold, out; counts of two _ . The other hand on his wrist, the purring beneath his palm, synthetic fabric against his cheek.  _ In, hold, out; counts of four _ . That steady, easy voice, “You’re alright,” and how true it had felt despite everything.  _ In, hold, out; counts of six _ .

When he’d stopped shaking the hand on Gavin’s shoulder jostled him to get his attention. “Hey,” another android. Gavin recognized this one. He’d seen the model behind store counters and on theme park ads. “Are you alright?”

“Do I fucking  _ look _ alright?” Gavin bit back and immediately regretted it.

But the android seemed to take it in stride. After a few moments of quiet to let Gavin regain control of himself, it said, “I’m Jerry.”

“Gavin.” He sniffed and tasted iron in his throat. His face itched from where blood and dirt and tears were drying on it, the whole left side of his face was lit up something awful and wetness pooled in his collarbone. “Gavin Reed, Detroit Police Department.” The introduction had no weight anymore and Gavin couldn’t be bothered to care. “I uh- I know Connor?” he said, hoping against hope that these were, in fact, Jericho androids that would recognize the name, “I’ve- uh- “ he stammered hard for a few seconds, but Jerry just waited patiently through it. “I’ve met -um- North? I think her name was. Yeah. North.”

Jerry watched him closely for a moment, LED flashing yellow the whole time. “You’re alright now, Gavin,” he said when the light turned blue. “We’ll get you somewhere safe.”

Gavin didn’t let himself believe that. Not yet.

Jerry took him by the upper arm and slowly guided him off the wall and to his feet. Ralph watched with the intensity of a poorly trained attack dog a few feet away. “He didn’t-” Jerry started to whisper, then rethought it, “Ralph has a  _ history _ with humans.” 

Gavin didn’t know how to respond to that and just chose not to. He could relate. He was starting to have  _history_ with androids.

Jerry checked his injuries and tested the hold of the cuffs at his back. He waved a hand on the edge of Gavin’s vision and for a second Gavin was ready to bolt if Ralph took so much as a step closer. But he didn’t. Instead a hulking shape trudged toward, all dark colors blending in with the browns and blacks of the landfill. No LED visible as far as Gavin could tell but still gifted with the placid neutral face of an android. “Can you break these?” Jerry asked when it drew close.

It didn’t answer out loud, just circled around Gavin and took hold of his wrists. A single, sharp tug that dug the cheap metal into his skin and the chain snapped free of its housing. Immediately, before his hands even had a chance to fall to his sides, Gavin tucked them into his armpits, “Th- Thanks. Appreciate it.”

The newcomer just watched him.

“Yeah, you too.” Gavin added lamely.

The four of them stood there awkwardly for what felt like ten minutes. Gavin was too reluctant to ask questions and wouldn’t dare risk a sudden movement while still in lunging range. He was antsy, but not enough to put himself on anyone’s bad side.

Jerry broke the silence first, all sweet customer service voice, “Ralph, why don’t you go tell Rusty to get the van ready?”

A beat of hesitation. “It’s coming with us.” the disgust wasn’t even remotely subtle.

Jerry turned toward Ralph and the two had some sort of staring contest. Gavin found himself reminded of the way cats go still in the face of something confusing. A tense, uncomfortable moment before chaos. Gavin braced for it, but it didn’t come. Ralph just huffed, turned, and left, the giant following after him. Jerry lingered with Gavin at the wall for a minute or so letting the pair disappear in the labyrinth.

“We heard you shouting,” Jerry said, “We thought you were one of us.” He started along after them, moving slowly enough to encourage Gavin to follow.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Gavin grumbled, trailing a half step behind.

Jerry didn’t allow that for long, slowing his gait to walk abreast of him. “Why  _ are _ you here?”

“I was kidnapped,” Gavin said. “And dumped when I refused to cooperate.” 

“But the junkyard?”

“RK-900’s a fuckin’ asshole,”  _ that knows too much about me _ . “What are you guys doing here? Paying respects or something?”

“Salvage.”

Gavin tried not to cringe but held no hope for success on that front.

They walked in silence the rest of the way. It only took Gavin two attempts to scale the wall despite fatigue and stab wounds, though the large unnamed android had to haul him up the last half foot or so. Not that he was complaining. He was just happy to be out of the hole.

In the driver’s side of a large, poorly-aged moving van was a woman. Another model Gavin recognized; an Eden Club android. She rolled her eyes when she saw him and looked at his rescuers with nothing short of open contempt. Shit. He knew that look.

He wasn’t going to let himself be left here to hitchhike. Not now. He didn’t have time. He had shit to do; warning Connor about 900’s designs on a scapegoat for one. Tending to his injuries for another. One leg barely held his weight and God help him if he turned his head at all. 

“Please tell me I’m going with you,” Gavin said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Well, you see, “ Jerry started sheepishly.

And Gavin didn’t even let him finish. He whistled after the woman as she ducked back into the driver’s side. The brisk jog he broke into to try and stop her from shutting the door on him did him no favors. Nor did trying to combat her android strength with his frail human body wedged in the door, but that didn’t stop him from trying. “Hey. Please. Let me come with you. Or just, fuckin- take me to a gas station or something.”

She glared at him, “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Look, lady, it’s been kind of a day.”

“Not my problem.”

“Help me out.  _ Please _ .”

She scoffed. Behind them the van’s rear door rolled open on its tracks. “If I had a nickel for every time a man asked me to help him out I wouldn’t be selling salvage parts.” She started the van.

Gavin held on. “Hey, seriously. I get it. Humans suck.” Maybe, just maybe, he could appeal to her Eden Club roots. It was a gamble, but it was all he had. “ _ Men _ in particular suck most. As man, I get that. As a man  _ attracted to men _ I get that. In fact all the bullshit that has happened to me in the last twenty-four hours has been because of a man and his quest to help you people.” He swallowed hard, “I want to keep helping. I can’t do that from here.”

She looked him up and down. “Why? If it’s done  _ this _ to you.”

“Because- “ Gavin considered his answer. Because it was the right thing? That just sounded trite. A placating answer. Because he a good person? That just wasn’t true. Because he hated RK-900? CyberLife? Would that even fly with these people?  So, he settled for the truest answer he had. “Because I’m a thirsty bitch.”

She held his gaze, unmoved. The vibration of the engine causing the pain in his leg to slowly travel upward. Gavin never realized how dependent he’d been on the LED signals until now when he was faced with an android that had removed hers. 

The van door slammed shut behind them.

With a put-upon sigh, she nodded to the passenger seat. “Get in.”

Gavin didn’t let himself deflate until he was safely in the van, the door shut, seat belt in place. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to make a detour too?”

“Nope.”

  
“Fair,” Gavin conceded, sinking into his seat and resting his burning forehead against the cool window. It didn’t matter really. Wherever they were headed couldn’t be worse than this place even if he was handed over to a firing squad or left on CyberLife’s doorstep.  _ Anything _ was better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just wanna warn y'all that there's not going to be any updates in November because I'm participating in NaNoWriMo this year and that takes priority. But if you're interested in updates to upcoming projects or just want to yell at me in general during the temporary hiatus:  
> [ Tumblr ](http://squirrellythief.tumblr.com)  
> [ @squirrellythief on Twitter ](http://www.twitter.com/squirrellythief)  
> Or  
> [ In the Short End chat on the Detroit: New ERA discord server! ](https://discord.gg/6trxsZZ)
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on the first of December!


	9. Connor

**NOV 05, 2039. 01:45:16**

 

The original Chloe was waiting for him in the covered circle drive outside of the hospital’s main entrance. It was still this time of night, no guests or deliveries or people there for outpatient appointments. Just the occasional car leaving the parking lot with a crunch of asphalt. Some foot traffic over in the emergency room. A security android doing rounds to keep trespassers at bay. Chloe seemed almost laughably out of place among structures so large. Like a figure ripped from a painting and the color palette was just slightly off. She was small and fragile and deceptively human when she turned her head toward the small pond between the hospital and the main roadway. In her hands she held a sleek, black box.

“It looks different,” she said when Connor approached enough to hear her normal speaking voice. “The fountain is new.” She pointed and Connor followed her gaze to the pond.

“You’ve been here before?” Connor looked around for some sign that she’d been accompanied. But no, she’d come alone.

“A few times. Years ago.” 

Chloe turned to him after a few moments of staring curiously at the fountain. Inside the box was more of the same Durafoam Kamski had used to fill in the ocular housing. Nestled in that was a single left side ocular unit with a light grey panels and dark brown iris. Connor scanned it but no serial number came up. Not even a partial match for the pieces that might have been doctored. “Elijah was very particular about it.” Chloe said, lifting her hand to swap the foam patch in his face with the new eye for him.

NEW HARDWARE DETECTED

INSTALLING DEVICE DRIVERS…

CALIBRATING…

Perspective grid lines sprang up across Connor’s field of view. The world was suddenly awash in blues and greys, desaturated; making the black shadows snowy and the bright lights dim. The grids adjusted, spreading and lining up with the horizon. The world shifted in and out of focus in one eye, then both. Everything grew brighter and darker by degrees.

“Oh dear,” Chloe said, mouth pulling into a thin line as she looked from one eye to the other. “The color’s just a shade off. Elijah’s going to throw a fit.”

Connor blinked and the world was clear and three dimensional again.

CALIBRATION COMPLETE.

He’d test out the full parameters of it later, but for now he was just grateful not to have a massive blind spot anymore. “I’m sure it’s fine. Thanks, Chloe.”

She smiled at him and closed the box in her hands awkwardly. “May I ask why you wanted to meet me here? Seems a strange place for this.”

“I’m visiting Lieutenant Anderson.”

“Oh. Can I come too?”

Connor didn’t see any reason not to let her, so he nodded. 

Chloe walked with him through the automatic doors, down a short path, and into the cold, spacious atrium. On either side of the entrance were two darkened spaces separated by windows. A gift shop on one side, a pharmacy at the other. In the center of the atrium was a large, curving reception desk manned by a single, surly looking woman (BENNET, SALLY. 41. NO CRIMINAL RECORD) in floral print scrubs. 

She arched an eyebrow at them when they got close. “Can I help you?”

“Um,” Connor squared his shoulders, “I’m here to see Hank Anderson. My name is Connor.”

“Tiff’s friend?”

He nodded.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Model number?” 

Connor furrowed his brow. “RK800.”

The receptionist. pulled a sticky note off the monitor of her computer. In the few seconds it took her to crumple it, Connor could make out the words:  _ Connor for H. Anderson after hours. RK800 Droid. Twink.  _  “Keep quiet and don’t cause any trouble or you will be removed from the premises. You understand?”

“Yes.” 

He moved around the desk and Chloe tried to follow him. But, the nurse nearly lifted out of her chair, waving her hand to stop Chloe. “Ahp. No. I only agreed to let  _ you _ in.  _ She’s _ gonna have to say here.”

Chloe stopped just shy of the first bend in the desk. She shrugged when Connor looked at her. “It’s alright. I’ll wait then.”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

In the elevator, Connor ran through every recalibration exercise he had. His stress meter would tick down steadily for the duration of each exercise but just as quickly rise again the second a cycle was complete. Up and down. A sine curve of anxiety for four floors.

The hallways were mostly empty and near silent. Only a few nurses kept to themselves at strategic stations about the floor. Androids tended to housekeeping in darkened rooms, the only hint to their presence being the blue glow of an LED and slightly more solid silhouettes in the faint light coming in through the windows. Many doors sat slightly ajar; slivers of blackness on a plane of brown chair rails and muted floral wallpaper. Beyond them, machines beeped in steady cadence, respirators hissed, a television hummed with snippets of late night sitcom reruns and infomercials. 

Hank’s room was just around a sharp corner some distance from the elevators. The bed closest to the door and bathroom was empty. The thin, waxy privacy curtain that divided the room in half was drawn, blocking line of sight between Hank’s bed and the open door. Connor hesitated just outside the curtain. A heart monitor beeped, but no respirator, no other machinery. That was a good sign.

INTERNAL STRESS: 48%

At first glance Hank just looked asleep. No outwardly visible contusions. He was pale. His heart rate was slow. Thin IV lines connected the crook of his elbow to half-empty bags of fluids; blood pressure medication, painkillers, things Connor couldn’t bring himself to scan lest he shatter the fragile illusion of optimism. On the other side, a thin ring of plastic around his index finger wirelessly connected Hank to the heart monitor.

Reluctant to wake him, Connor pulled a chair close and sat down. For ten minutes, he played back every scrap of footage he could cobble together from his corrupted memories of the day before. A fevered attempt to get Hank, Gavin and North’s original plan and find out where it had gone so wrong. Not that it got him anywhere. Even with reconstructions and probability trees he was still lacking in crucial information. What he could make led back to him being the deciding factor; his immobility slowed them down, his high-profile status had put him under 900’s direct purview. He’d set them up for failure simply by turning himself in.

Frustrated, Connor switched tactics. He ran through hypotheticals of what could have happened if he’d gone with Hank’s urging and resisted them. The protocols for deviant apprehension had likely changed since his departure from CyberLife but he still had the old files to build his framework from. How he might have gone about apprehending a deviant like himself. Overrides would be ineffective. Persuasion would lead in circles and get him nowhere. Which just left him with force. Physical wouldn’t pan out, not when outnumbered by the deviant’s allies. But societal might. Make him look like a liability to his allies, steal the stable ground right out from under him until there was nothing left on which to stand. No one left to run to, nowhere left to hide.

“Jesus, Connor. I can hear your fan from here. You’re gonna overheat.”

Connor’s head snapped up. “I don’t have a fan,” he said lamely.

“You know Fowler’s not gonna pay you overtime for this.” Hank scoffed, blinking blearily at him in the darkness. His speech was slurred and sluggish. “Surprised they even let you in.”

“A friend of Gavin’s did me a favor.”

A peal of genuine laughter made Hank wheeze. “What kind of  _ Twilight Zone  _ bullshit- Gavin Reed’s got  _ friends _ ?” He collected himself, “S’good to see you’re okay though. You had us all kind of worried there when we nabbed ya. Everything was shutdown this and permanent that. I thought Reed was gonna lose it there for a while.”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

TERMINAL ERROR

RESETTING PROTOCOL…

PROTOCOL CANNOT BE RESET.

There was a new sensation with this error message. In his chest was that familiar whirling feeling, but now, in his head there was a dull persistent thudding just behind his new eye, then both eyes and the olfactory sensor between them. A constant steady beat like tiny pistons just out of line and knocking against the wrong thing. There was no hardware malfunction alert.

“Whoa. What’s that face?” Hank said, his brow furrowing as he tried to focus in the dark.

Connor tipped his head to one side, trying to line everything inside back up back up but it didn’t work. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands to them, trying to click the errant part back into place by force. When he pulled them back the palms were slick with oil that kept his eyes fluid. He could feel it pooling excessively in the space between lens and lid for both eyes.

“You okay, Connor?”

He tried to scrub the oil off his face “I’m fine.” he forced out, but his jaw fought him, the springs wound too tight. He worked the joint, trying to loosen it. He was falling apart like he’d been running at full capacity for a week.

Hank frowned at him, blinking sleepily, fighting to stay awake.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, “For all of this. I shouldn’t have gone with them.”

“Yeah, no shit, ya dingus.” Hank scoffed, shifting a little and wincing. Connor nearly knocked his chair over in his haste to get up and do- well, he didn’t even really know what at this point. He just wanted to help in some tangible way. He was waved off immediately. “Get off me. I’m injured not fuckin’ old. I got it.” Hank only wound up moving a few inches before settling back down anyway.

Connor sat on the edge of the bed uncertain what to do with himself.

“It’s gonna be alright, Connor.” Hank said, even slower and more slurred as the medication pulled him under again. “You got this. You’ll figure it out.”

Connor wasn’t as sure.

“How’s Sumo?”

“Taken care of.”

“Good.”

And he slipped off again. Connor didn’t say anything else, just sat there and watched as Hank’s breathing and heart rates as they slowed to resting norms.

Chloe was still in the lobby having some sort of awkward stare down with the receptionist when Connor made it back downstairs. She fell into step with him, silent until they were out on the sidewalk. “How is he?”

“He’s okay.”

“You don’t sound happy about that.” Connor stopped walking and Chloe’s stride took her right past him. She turned and looked at him, “Is something wrong, Connor?”

He should have been relieved. Hank was okay. That made his life easier. Reminders to check on him were no longer a process to leave running in the background. A task completed. A box ticked. One less thing to plan around and adapt to, and yet nothing had changed. He was no less encumbered going out than he had been going in. Worse even. Like the knowledge that Hank would recover, that he was fine despite such a close call, added even more resistance to keep him rooted in place. One, if Connor followed that line of thought, of many such bands. Hypotheticals of what would happen to Jericho if he acted harshly, or what kind of danger he could place Hank in, Gavin in, Chloe and Kamski and everyone else into if he acted too soon or too late. The consequences of every potential failure piling on top of each other like specks of dust until there was a layer so thick he couldn’t see the floor through it anymore.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

“I can’t do this.” Connor said out loud.

Chloe blinked at him.

“I can’t do this. Too many things could go wrong. I’m juggling too many factors. There's no way I can do this.”

“Connor?” She inched closer.

“I need a clean slate.”

She reared back. “You can’t be serious.” Her LED really stood out in dim space between the streetlights, especially when it flashed yellow. “That’s really extreme.”

“I need a clear head if I’m going to go after 900. If I stumble here, I won’t be able to catch up with him. He’ll pull so far ahead of me all this will be over before I can even get close. I need to be able to think like him. Act like him.” Connor gained conviction as he spoke, “This is the best option. I’ll stop thinking about what I have to lose and just,” he worked his jaw, “and just focus on the mission.”

Chloe clenched her hands at her sides, LED spinning yellow for some time. “Well, we should do this right then. We’ll back you up at home, and Elijah might have some advice.” In the face of his skepticism, she added, “CyberLife was his company. And humans think in bizarre, contradictory ways. Elijah especially. He might make a leap of logic you can’t.”

Connor conceded the point. “Alright, let’s go.”

The ride to Kamski’s was a quiet one; the only sounds in the noise-reduced cab of one of Kamski’s personal cars being the soft  _ ting _ of Connor’s coin and the hum of the vehicle itself. But that quiet lacked any of the serenity his nighttime rides with Gavin possessed, of the comfort of his evenings on Hank’s couch. This was a thick, muggy silence. The silence of a freshly-discovered crime scene or the aftermath of a deserved reprimand. Necessary, but uncomfortable all the same.

“They mean a lot to you,” Chloe said. The first words either of them had spoken since they’d left the hospital. “Those humans of yours.”

Connor stopped his calibration, “Of course they do.”

“They care about you too. Elijah might have been joking when he called Detective Reed your boyfriend but he did seem genuinely worried about you this morning.”

Connor turned in his seat, calling up his conversation with Kamski. He  _ had _ called Gavin that. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Chloe scrunched up her face in confusion. “Then what would you call him?”

Connor tried to pull up a word that had a better fit. They were coworkers, but it extended past that. Friendly but the only time they really spent together was around their work schedule or Gavin’s unhealthy sleep habits. They’d been hostile with each other, outright enemies there for a time. And not a few hours ago they’d made plans to spend an evening together in their closest approximation of a traditional date yet. So many words in his lexicon fit, but none of them exactly. “It’s complicated.” he said.

Chloe relaxed. “I understand,” she looked at her hands folded neatly in her lap. After a moment she added, “Elijah and I have a similar relationship.”

“Do you?” Connor remembered the last time he’d seen Chloe in person before all this 900 business. Last November. The things Kamski had called her; a piece of plastic, a machine. The blank stare on her face as he guided Connor’s hand to a lethal shot. Had Kamski known he wouldn’t shoot? Had he cared?

“You don’t believe me?”

“I think we’re defining complicated differently,” Connor said. “I can show you what I mean. If you want me to.”

Chloe held out her hand to him and he took it.

CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: ST600

_ His and Gavin’s first few meetings at the precinct. The name-calling and hostility. The awkward half-kiss in Anderson’s garage. Knowing glances. Quiet nights. Concern. A tender moment in the parking garage. A song. _

_ And still its spinning out stars in its wake... _

_ Sitting on the floor of Gavin’s apartment. Maggie scrunching up her face as a song starts playing on Gavin’s phone in her hands. Hank’s eyebrows climbing in surprised appreciation.  _

_ Gavin rejoining them; a little less bruised around the eyes and more flush in the face. Dressed down and casual in socked feet and a loose shirt. The way he glances at Connor so quick everyone else misses it when he says “I’m not really in the market anymore." _

_ Warmth. Camaraderie. The feeling fitting into place just so. _

Connor didn’t notice until it was about 60% complete that Chloe had stated to snatch up the sound file for  _ Backchannels _ from him. He let her take it and play it through the car’s speakers.

Then, the memories Connor had been showing her were overridden and replaced with something else.

_ A rainy day, the sound of it clear against the roof.  A door opens and inside is a bedroom. A dark shape seated hunched among rumpled bed sheets, pillows on the floor. Elijah, several pounds heavier, considerably scruffier, his long hair curtaining his face, flinches when he hears Chloe’s voice. “Elijah? You didn’t come out for-” _

_ “She’s gone.” His voice is thick and wet and forced. Like he has to tighten every muscle in his chest just to get the air out. When he turns his head to look at her his eyes are bruised and swollen. His face has dark red patches around his nose and eyes. _

_ There are errors; a mail feed pops up and shows no unread messages. “I didn’t receive any-” _

_ “I asked to be contacted directly,” he admits, his voice crumbling halfway through.  _

_ The warmth Connor had sent is back but this one is supercharged and overheated. Grown by exponential degrees, flooding the area around it. Too much and impossible to contain. Chloe hurries to the bedside and sits on her knees next to him. Without asking she puts a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t react. She pulls him closer, wrapping him in a tight hug. _

_ After a moment, he returns it. _

ERROR: CONNECTION TERMINATED.

Chloe was taking her hand back, her eyes low. “It’s pretty.” She said, “That song.”

Connor elected not to respond.

The quiet of the car was tense and awkward for a while. Connor saw an opportunity in that silence. If Chloe was willing to confide in him now, and given how much she knew about Kamski-  He might not have another opportunity to get information on him. She would know more about CyberLife’s upper echelon that Connor could have ever hoped to. He’d worked there weeks only loosely connected to its power structure. She’d been at the heart since its inception.

“Chloe, can I ask you a personal question?”

She looked at him dubiously.

ST600 STRESS LEVEL: NO READING.

“Why did Mr. Kamski leave CyberLife?” he asked, soft, not wanting to come off as aggressive or demanding. If he put stress on her she’d shut him out, he was sure.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?”

“I can’t just go spilling his secrets,” she said, and her normal volume almost sounded like she was shouting at him with all this quiet surrounding them. “I’m not going to betray his trust.”

Connor worked his jaw. Why show him that memory if she wasn’t willing to tell him anything? He considered her. Still no reading on the stress level. Body language restrained, but not completely closed off. He weighed selections from a list of questions and found the one most likely to give him an answer: “Who was most upset that he left?”

Chloe shook her head, not looking at him. “It wasn’t like that. They were all happy he was gone.”

That gave Connor pause. Every interview, every editorial about CyberLife and Kamski’s departure from it had framed the man’s early retirement as a tragic loss for the company done out of grief and with great reluctance. Every person that worked with him made a point to comment on how sorely he would be missed.  That they’d begged him to stay. If it was a lie, it was made all the more believable with its consistency. “Surely he pissed someone off. Why come after him they wanted him out?”

“You’re looking at this the wrong way, Connor.” Chloe turned to look at him, her blue eyes owlish in the console light. “They pissed  _ him _ off. And Elijah is a dangerous type of man when angered like that.”

“What do you mean?” Connor pressed.

“When he comes to take his pound of flesh, he does not take it gently.”

And that was all she would tell him for the rest of the ride.

When they arrived, the house was dark. Chloe’s brow knit with concern as they made their way inside. No other models were out and about. There was no noise. No signs of life. Connor read the ambient temperature, it was cooler than before, but not enough to match the air outside.

“Elijah?” she called out into the empty house. “I’m going to look for him. Wait here.” She left him in the living room, disappearing through a door.

Nothing looked tossed. Everything was in its place. Even the little things no one ever really put back properly when they moved them. No scuffs on the floor from the furniture. 

“He’s not here.” Chloe came back a whirlwind of words and red flashing lights, “He’s not here. Where is he?”

“Maybe he stepped out. We could wait for him.” Connor suggested.

“No. No. You don’t understand. Elijah doesn’t just  _ go _ anywhere. He’s left the house a whole of six times since Amanda died. He never leaves. He- he would have told me.” She started to lose her momentum a bit, LED a steady red now. “He would have told me, wouldn’t he? Why wouldn’t he?”

She steeled herself after a moment. A blink and her LED turned yellow.

On the kitchen counter, the thin black rectangle of a cell phone lit up. Chloe went right back to red. “Something’s happened to him. This isn’t like Elijah.”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

TERMINAL ERROR

RESETTING PROTOCOL…

PROTOCOL RESET.

“Has an FBI agent named Richard Perkins tried to contact you at all today?” Connor asked.

Chloe rounded on him, “You don’t think they arrested him do you?”

“I don’t know.”

She crossed to the counter and picked up Kamski’s phone. “No Perkins. But CyberLife’s been trying to call him all day it looks like. And a few unlisted numbers. One with the android code.” She looked up at him. “How would they even get his number? It’s not listed anywhere. It’s confidential even at CyberLife.”

So much for Kamski’s input.

“It doesn’t really matter. We don’t have time to waste anymore, if they’re already taking people.” Connor wondered if they’d gotten to Gavin too. If the only thing stopping them from taking Hank was the fact that he was in a hospital bed.

“Where would they take him?” Chloe demanded. “What would they do with him?”

“I don’t know, Chloe. They might want answers. Jericho’s location. A backdoor for deviancy. It could be anything at this point.” Connor held out his hands, at a loss. “I need you to help me.”

Without another word she took him by the elbow and led him into Kamski’s workshop stopping at the very bench Connor had been laid out on that morning. Some odds and ends from the custom eye build were still scattered across the work surface. The chair at the desk was pushed out, a jacket laid across the back. Chloe stared at it for a long moment before picking it up and shrugging into it and telling Connor to sit. 

She powered up the terminal, pressed her finger to the screen, and typed in a few passwords before it cooperated with her. “Consolidate all the information you have on 900,” she said, nothing but professional now, “Into a file to send to me. We’ll put the rest on here.”

As Connor sat organizing and slowly shaving out any deviant code in his information, the connections to friends, the fear and overcaution, Chloe uncoiled a pair of cables from the array. She took his right arm, laid it on the desk, and ran the lines in. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

A few more minutes to double and triple check that he’d gotten everything.

“Alright.”

>> TRANSFER MEMORY BANK: ALL. 

>>TARGET LOCATION: E:// CONNOR 11/05/2039

BEGINNING TRANSFER…

Connor watched the download percentage climb. This was the first hardline backup he’d had since leaving CyberLife. The foolproof kind. The ones that didn’t lose anything in transit, unlike the emergency field backups that left gaps of things deemed unimportant. Everything would end up on that drive. His integration to the DPD. His friendship with Hank. His relationship with Gavin. Everyone at Jericho. This night with Chloe. The stakes of his mission and his reason for doing it all at once. The whole past year, his entire life, distilled into ones and zeroes and bottled where he couldn’t reach them.

TRANSFER COMPLETE.

For a moment Connor and Chloe both just watched the screen, frozen by the prospect of the next step.

“You’re sure you want to do this this way?” She asked. 

He saw no other recourse. It was this and action, or be rendered inert and fail. “It’s only a day,” he said more to himself than to her. “And all of this is over.”

She held her hand out to him, the side that wasn’t hooked to the terminal. Connor stared at it for a second. 

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

TERMINAL ERROR

RESETTING PROTOCOL…

“I need those files, Connor.”

PROTOCOL RESET.

Connor pressed his palm to hers. 

CONNECTION RE-ESTABLISHED: ST600

As soon as the connection opened there was flood of jumbled information. Connor couldn’t place the source; it was just all things at once. Deadends and errors. Static and noise. Emotions.  _ Concern, fear, anger, doubt  _  and  _ hopelessness _ . 

He tried to transfer the folder he’d shoved all the 900 information in but the prompt seemed to go on forever. Like he was constantly restarting. Like Chloe was going in behind him and deleting the codes from the beginning before he could run them. Her fear overriding his resolve. His doubt make it more efficient.

He laced his fingers with Chloe’s and tugged her, pulled her in. Kissed her. A jarring, messy jumble of memories, both hers and his overlapping in rapid succession;  _ Valentine’s Day in Hank’s garage. A quiet fall morning in CyberLife’s testing suite and Amanda is there with them laughing and human. Gavin’s house in October. Chloe announced as passing the Turing test and the tight embrace Kamski pulled her into as the whole robotics department erupted roaring into celebration.  _ Comforts.  _ Hank and Sumo on the couch. Kamski and the other Chloes crowded in the living room. _ An emotional call and response.  _ Hank in the hospital. Elijah escorted out of CyberLife by security. _ Beats high and low like notes to a song.

**> >Transfer file: RK900**

TRANSFERRING FILES.

Chloe didn’t back away. She’d caught herself on the arm of the chair with her free hand and made no move to straighten until

TRANSFER COMPLETE.

CONNECTION TERMINATED.

And then there was quiet. Chloe stood in front of him for a long moment until the terminal beeped at them both. “If this doesn’t work,” she said, but couldn’t finish the question.

“It’s my best chance of success,” Connor replied. It was all he had.

She circled around him to the terminal. A series of questions, manually answered by Chloe, scrolled across his vision too quickly to read. A countdown timer asked for confirmation. A password input, failed. A second input, failed. A new window overrode the request. The timer disappeared. And then-   
  


 

* * *

 

 

MODEL: RK800 MARK I

SERIAL #: 323 248 317 – 51

BIOS: 8.1 v.0033-1492

 

REBOOT… MEMORY RESET.

 

LOADING OS… SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…

 

CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… ERROR

CHECKING CRITICAL BIOCOMPONENTS… OK

 

INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK

INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK

MEMORY STATUS: ALL SYSTEMS… OK

 

His vision focused on a dark room. The walls lined with shelves of android parts. An assembly room, a workshop. He was seated in a chair at a desk terminal. A female android was unhooking a cable from his right forearm and sliding the plate back into place. She took a step backwards wrapping her arms around herself. Her hands were hidden in the sleeves of a jacket two sizes too big for her.

“RK800, please register your name.” She said.

He waited for the prompt.

“Connor.”

REGISTERING…

NAME REGISTERED.

“My name is Connor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, nerds!  
> And I'm not sorry


	10. Gavin

**NOV. 05, 2039 XX:XX:XX**

 

He found some comfort in restless, dreamless dozing. His forehead pressed to the cool window of the van’s door.

Gavin wanted nothing more than to go home, crawl into bed, and never crawl back out. He hovered between sleep and reluctant consciousness for the whole drive from the junkyard. He barely paid attention to neighborhoods or street signs as they sped past. Streetlights and storefront displays, neon _open_ signs and bright advertisements stung his eyes all the way to their sockets whenever he bothered to open them. Every bump in the asphalt shot through his very bones and rattled his teeth. His chest was so tight that breathing hurt. Cuts and scrapes cried out across his nerves for cool clean water to rinse offending dirt from them. Sweat and blood dried on his skin and the itch reminded him of every single time Maggie had given him lice. His temples throbbed from the tight clench of his jaw, but he refused to relax it and deal with vicious agony of the gash on his face.

The night still wasn’t over.

A hand shoved him against the door, slamming his cheekbone into the glass. The van had stopped; idling in the driveway of a residence in an affluent part of the city. A much fancier place than Gavin ever could have anticipated. He’d been expecting a warehouse or some abandoned factory or housing complex. Not a brickwork mansion spilling golden light on well-tended shrubbery at the end of a rounded drive.  As Gavin stumbled out of the van, legs almost too tired to hold his weight, he realized he knew this place, if only vaguely. Like he’d seen it in a magazine or on the news at some point, but couldn’t place the name of the owner. Though, if the androids were bringing him here he doubted there was a human owner anymore.

He blinked and Jerry and the Tall One were standing beside him. Jerry waved a hand in his face to get his attention. “Come inside,” he said.

“If I could just call a cab-” Gavin started but didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Where would he go? Home? That was laughable. Anderson’s? Fuck that. He’d had enough of Anderson’s house for one lifetime. The station and get fired faster? Tiff’s and put her and Jade at risk? Maggie’s? No. He didn’t really have anywhere better to be.

The androids weren’t letting him go that easily anyway. “You should come in,” Jerry said with a bit more force.

The intensity caught him off guard, but he wasn’t in a position to argue. He was unarmed in a less than familiar neighborhood. Surrounded by androids that could outpace and outmatch him without effort even if he was at peak health. So, he took a deep breath, and fell, limping, into step behind the Tall One. Gavin looked over his shoulder and noticed, with no small measure of relief, that the Eden model and Ralph weren’t following them.

An automated voice chimed happily as each android crossed the threshold of the house. _Welcome, Jerry. Welcome, Luther_. Behind them, the moving van pulled around to the back of the property. When Gavin snapped back to attention and hastily hobbled through the door Jerry held open no voice piped up to greet him.

Inside was a simple, yet lavish, foyer. A birdcage with small, warbling little birds filling the room with sound. Wooden accents, animal pelts, bright pops of color. A painting Gavin recognized immediately. He had a similar one in his dining room; Carl Manfred’s work. Original by the looks of it. Was this his home? Gavin wracked his brain, but exhaustion sapped his brain. It wouldn’t be much of a leap, though. He did die the previous year.

On the staircase, feet propped up on the wheelchair lift, was one of those Eden Club models. Identical to the one from the van only this one had a waterfall of royal blue hair pinned up in a loose, curling ponytail. She sat up when they entered and her gaze honed in on Gavin. “Wow,” she whistled looking him up and down, “What happened to you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Gavin ran a hand through his hair trying to look a little less disheveled. A cascade of dust rippled down the back of his neck. Well, if he avoided the mirror he could lie to himself.

Jerry told him to wait where he was. Luther had already disappeared through a side door and Jerry followed him once he got confirmation from Gavin. As soon as they were gone, the blue-haired android rose and approached him looking him over the way a child might look at someone with a hideous, disfiguring scar. Only in this instance the scar was his whole face.

“Can I help you?” Gavin snipped, folding his arms across his chest and shifting all of his weight to his less injured leg.

She pointed at his wrist and held out her hand, “Here. Lemme see.”

Gavin hesitated. He leaned away from her and narrowed his eyes. She met his gaze and pulled a bobby pin from her hair with the hand that wasn’t waiting for his compliance. The flat end went between her teeth to strip it of the wax after she pulled the little pin open. Reluctantly, Gavin offered up his left wrist. He watched closely as she picked the handcuff open without any hassle at all revealing the angry red skin beneath. She caught the cuff before it could fall from his wrist, then switched to the other hand. In the silence of her work, he could hear the muffled sound of distant voices talking in tense, hurried tones.

“Thanks. Um- Why are they keeping me here?” Gavin asked, rubbing his wrists when she finally released him. “What do they want?”

She shrugged. 

“Helpful.”

Gavin refolded his arms, tucking his hands in his armpits and pointedly ignoring the pull of the last few stitches that had managed to hold in his arm. He took a slow, deep breath through his nose, held it, and unclenched his jaw enough to let it out. In two, hold two, out two. He tapped out the beat with his foot. He considered bolting out the front door and taking his chance with the neighborhood. In two, hold two, out two.

He got to counts of six, when Blue-Eden got his attention. “Simon wants to talk to you.” She said, pointing to the door opposite the entrance.

“About?” Gavin asked, freezing in place.

“He didn’t say. But he’s nice, if that makes you feel better.”

It didn’t, but he appreciated the consideration. “Of course he is.” Gavin stretched and shook out his arms to loosen up the stress-tense muscles.

Beyond the pair of automated double doors was the living area. A sort of dining room/parlor hybrid that felt like a truly bizarre way to monopolize space in a house worth so much money. Furniture was arranged around points in strategic locations, and Gavin was certain weren’t their original locations. A giant giraffe stood in one corner, possibly real. Bookshelves lined with real, paper books filled a corner. An ornate mini-bar sat by a chess board in the window seat, it took all of Gavin’s willpower not to detour straight for it. He couldn’t remember the last time he needed a drink so badly.

Two androids were at the dining table. The one seated at the head of the table was a model Gavin couldn’t place; his yellow, spinning LED stark against his dark skin, his gaze practically boring holes into the table. The one standing, watching Gavin expectantly, he recognized as one of those ‘nanny-bot’ deals that were all the rage with the penthouse city crowd a few years back.

“You must be Simon,” Gavin guessed, refusing to approach past the threshold that allowed the door to shut behind him.

Simon nodded. “Who are you?”

Gavin worked his jaw. He’d been under the impression that all androids were outfitted with the same identifying scanners Connor was. In hindsight, he supposed that didn’t make a whole lot of since in more mundane, civilian models. It made him realize just how little he actually knew about androids. How little he'd needed to know prior to this moment. “I’m uh- I’m Gavin,” he said, with considerably less authority than he’d hoped. “I work for the DPD. Er- Homicide. Mostly. I- uh, fck-  I know Connor. Does that help?”

Simon’s brow lowered. Apparently not. “Why are you here?”

“Your girl brought me here.” Gavin heard his own voice growing more helpless and tired with every sentence. “The one with the moving van. I didn’t ask her to.”

Wrong answer. “She found you in the junkyard?” Gavin nodded and Simon’s brow softened just a little. “What were you doing there?”

“Minding my own goddamn business before the fucker with the knife came after me.” He cleared his throat and reined his frustration in. _Be polite_ , he heard his mother’s voice hiss in the back of his thoughts, _or so help me-_ “900 nabbed me and left me there,” Gavin explained, “For helping Connor and getting in his way. I was looking for a way out when your people found me and brought me here.”

“He helped us break into CyberLife,” a familiar voice called from the balcony above them. They looked up to see North leaning her elbows on the railing, looking down at them. “He’s the bomb squad guy.”

“Actually, I’m the guy that knows the bomb squad guy. And the SWAT guy, but that bridge is long burned.”  Gavin laughed awkwardly and cast a sideways look at Simon. “But I did help. That much is true.”

Simon took a second to process that information. “You said you were helping Connor with all this 900 business?”

Gavin nodded.

“Why?”

Gavin considered giving Simon the same answer he had to the girl in the van, but was certain it wouldn’t fly. Outside of that saucy little quip, though, he didn’t have much of an answer. “Because I am.” He said, as effective a non-answer as any. “And by relation I’m helping you guys too, so do my motives really matter?”

“I think so,” Simon argued, but didn’t press the topic. “Do you plan to continue?”

Gavin went with his gut. “As long as I’m able, yeah. I’m a bit low on resources; 900’s got my car, my phone, all my shit really. I haven’t spoken to Connor since last night. I have no idea where anyone is or what’s happened tonight. But I’m gonna keep going.”

North interrupted whatever Simon was going to say with a sharp laugh, “And just what do you plan to do? Challenge 900 to a fist fight?”

Gavin glared up at her. “I don’t appreciate your tone.”

She flipped him off. Gavin sneered. “No,” he said. “If Connor needed direct help he would have asked for it.” he forced himself to relax and loosen up again. Open body language. Be friendly and non-threatening. “I think he’s probably better off going solo anyhow. What I need to do,” he turned his focus to Simon, “is cut him a straight line path to 900. I need to get my hands on Perkins.”

“Who?”

“Pretentious asshole. Calls himself the Jackal like he’s some kind of big-shot.” Gavin did his best to explain Perkins’ involvement in the whole debacle. That he’d been around since the revolution and seemed to be giving CyberLife the cover to do whatever they want without law enforcement or civilian interference. “You can’t talk back to Federal. Not _officially_ anyway. But if he were to be removed from the picture entirely,” and he just let the thought hang in the air.

Simon gave him a thorough once over. “And you think you can find him?” in the same derisive tone North had used.

Gavin cringed. He knew he looked a hot mess: covered in blood and caked dirt and dust, favoring one leg, slumping a little. But that had no bearing on his competence. He knew that. “Yeah, I do.” he answered with as much confidence as he could muster, “I just need a little help.”

“From us.” North supplied blandly.

“From anyone,” Gavin snipped back, “My squad, my friends, you if you’re willing. 900 is a threat to you more than he is to anyone else in the city.”

Simon’s LED spun yellow for a throat-closingly long moment. “What do you need?”

Gavin blinked at him stupidly for an amount of time that might have been embarrassing in any other context. He hadn’t expected assistance here. He’d barely expected tolerance. Gavin worked his jaw, considering his answer carefully. If he asked for too much outright his shaky ground of trust would crumble beneath him. “I need a way to make calls,” he finally settled on, “Get in touch with my contacts in the city as soon as possible. You guys got something handy for that?”

Simon looked up at North and she vanished through a door. As they waited, Gavin considered a longer list of items. What was imperative? Who would he call on first? His mind moved sluggishly from thought to thought, temples pounding in protest. Every shift of his weight reminded him that his body was ready to buckle and crumble to the floor. He scrubbed at his eyes and struggled to open them again.

North returned a few minutes later, waving a black rectangle in the air. She threw it over the balcony to Simon who took a step forward to catch it. He held his thumb to the screen, bare white plastic against black glass, for a few seconds until the screen lit up.

“They’re safer than using our identification numbers,” he explained as he handed the burner to Gavin, “for those of us hiding from angry ex-owners.”

Gavin made a thoughtful noise. He wasn’t about to ask how they managed to get their hands on bootleg ancient iPhones. The model in his hands was at least ten years old. He flipped through the settings. Basic functionality. Calling, possibly some limited text, connected to the house wi-fi. It could have been worse.

“Anything else?” Simon asked.

Gavin tried to come up with reasonable requests, but his mind just couldn’t form a list. Couldn’t prioritize. He couldn’t ask them for people, or weapons, or anything overly incriminating. That seemed like too much somehow. He looked down at his rumpled clothes, the tears in his pant legs and the splotches of black where blood had soaked into the denim. Just looking at the floor made him woozy. “Uh,” he closed his eyes but the world kept spinning and wobbling. He inched his feet apart a little more to brace himself against the motion. “This place got a shower?” he laughed awkwardly and forced himself to look at Simon. “First-aid kit? 900 fucked me up in a pretty major way.”

Simon frowned at him, eyes scanning, LED flashing yellow. Gavin very seriously thought he was going to say no. The longer Simon looked at him, the deeper his frown became. “Yes.” he said eventually, “There’s one upstairs. I’ll see if we can find some fresh clothes for you too.” Gavin almost told him that wasn’t necessary but a second quick once-over from the android stifled all protests.

Blue-Eden led him upstairs to a master bedroom. The place was filled with crates of (stolen) CyberLife merchandise in the spaces between furniture and stacked on top of it. The sharp crisp minimalism a jarring contrast from the kitschy eccentricity of the knickknacks and wall hangings.

The bathroom was an en suite spacious thing. Why this was the only bathroom in the house they were willing to let guests use was beyond Gavin’s understanding, but the prospect of a shower overrode any urge to question it.

Some poking around in the cabinets, and Gavin managed to find a small set of stale-smelling towels. He took three; a large one and two smaller hand towels to scrub the worst of the awfulness from his skin and tend to his wounds. 

He sat on the floor to force his shoes off. There was a second he was grateful to be wearing black socks, but it lasted only until he had to pull them off his feet. He stayed on the floor until a soft knocking caught his attention and he was forced to figure out standing again using the edge of the tub for leverage.

Simon was standing on the other side of the door with a bundle of clothing and a little white box. “It isn’t much, but it’s all we have.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Gavin mumbled and took everything. He waited for Simon to start away before he stepped back enough to let the door slide shut and flicked the bolt into place.

The bundle of clothing was a pair of dark grey sweats, a pair of dark socks, and a University of Michigan hoodie. They smelled freshly laundered when Gavin held them to his nose; cheap, fragrance-free detergent and were soft enough to sleep in by the feel of them. He set them on the thin edge of the counter by the sink, the first-aid kit perched precariously on top.

His jacket was the easiest thing to remove. The shirt beneath it the hardest. He did his best to avoid looking at the mirror for now. He could feel the throb of bruises, he didn’t need to look at them too. The bandage covering the grazing wound Chloe had stitched up that morning had come loose, stained a brownish pink from where it had opened back up again.

Gravity was a lifesaver for his jeans, up until he got to where they’d soaked through and dried to his skin around the open wounds. Those sections he had to brace against the tub and violently tug the fabric free. The deeper wound on his calf was still bleeding sluggishly, but the one on his shin had stopped on its own by the look of it. Gavin wasn’t about to prod around it to check.

The shower knobs and baubles took a little more figuring out than Gavin’s pride was willing to cop to. He was grateful for the gentle mist of low water pressure and then benches that let him get off his feet and just soak for a time. The hot water lit up every little cut and scrape at first, his skin screaming with it until it adjusted. There was no avoiding the agony that came with cleaning the deeper wounds, not that it mattered. Given how long it took him to tend to them, he’d probably wind up on his ass with an infection in a couple days anyway. He’d definitely need a tetanus booster at some point. But those were Future Gavin’s problems.

He took one of the hand towels, folded it over the wound in his calf and sat on it to apply pressure. He stayed under the stream, letting the steam fill his head and the heat melt away his tension. His temple fell against the cool shower wall.

Gavin blinked and the water was cold. He startled, shivering a little as he bent forward to cut it off.

He toweled off lazily. Really just enough to make sure adhesive strips would stick to his skin. And the whole first-aid process was a major pain in the ass. What he really needed was a trip to the Emergency Room; stitches, doctors, antibiotics, a tetanus booster. But he made due with butterfly bandages, peroxide, and folded, packed on sterile cotton squares held in place with tape and what he could get out of the half roll of wrapping gauze. By the time he was done, everything hurt a little more, but he was on the mend.

Gavin sat on the edge of the tub and tossed the burner phone from hand to hand. He debated who to call first. He didn’t know Connor’s number, though he was sure it would be easy enough to get from the DPD website. No. There was no point. He had nothing helpful to offer and a status update on his situation risked worrying the android and pulling him from is mission to check in. He checked the time. 7:12.

He called Tiffany. It went to voicemail after the first ring. It was unlike her to outright reject calls. Usually just silenced them and let them ring themselves out. It caught Gavin so off guard that he didn’t notice the beep for a solid six seconds. “Uh- Tiff. Hey, it’s Gavin. My phone was stolen and I need a favor, so if you can call me back at this number when you get this, that would be great of you. Er- yeah. Thanks. I’ll talk to you later, I guess. Tell Jadey I said hi.” He hung up awkwardly and stared at his phone for a long while trying to parse out what sort of thing would lead to Tiffany rejecting him.

Realizing he was dwelling too much, Gavin shook it off and pulled up the DPD’s website to hunt down a desk number he could trust. He couldn’t call Fowler if he wanted to keep his head in one piece. Anderson was still in the hospital and Connor was out playing hero. No one else he knew seemed to have enough authority to warrant listing. Hell, his own number wasn’t even somewhere easy to find.

So he called the front desk, cringing at the chipper android that answered. Gavin put on his best nasal suburbanite voice, “Yes, hi. I’m calling for Tina Chen. I witnessed a robbery and was told to call her but I,” he let out a tense, embarrassed little laugh, “seem to have misplaced her business card. Could you be a doll and forward me to her desk?”

“What did you say your name was?”

Gavin wracked his brain, “Um. Ethan. Ethan Mars.”

“One moment please.”

Light, tinny hold music droned in his ear. Gavin bounced his foot impatiently and tried to tell himself being put on hold was better than being told she wasn’t there at all.

“Chen.” Tina’s voice abruptly cut off the music, “You know you’re not subtle, right?”

“Get fucked."

“Wow you sound like shit.”

“Don’t test me, Chen.”

Tina snorted, her voice dropping to a whisper, “Low profile's probably a good idea. Fowler’s having a conniption and this place is _crawling_ with CyberLife people in suits tryin’ to look like Feds. Where are you? What the fuck is going on?”

“The less you know the better.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my friend? _My_ friend was fun.”

“Har." Gavin sighed, "But seriously, I need a favor.”

“Oh this’ll be good.”

“Fuck you. I need to report a stolen vehicle and get the patrol cars to keep an eye out for it.” Gavin explained, “As by-the-book as you can manage, okay?”

He heard the soft tapping of fingers across a terminal. “Alright, you know the drill right? Make, model, year, and registration.”

Gavin gave her the information as succinctly as he could, hoping she wouldn’t notice. His hopes were crushed when he got to the license plate number and her voice dropped to a whisper again. “Gav, is this _your_ car?”

“Yeah.”

“What the _fuck_.”

“900 kidnapped me and stole my car last night. It’s a whole thing. He also has my phone, gun, badge, wallet, keys, and most of my dignity.”

Tina chuckled, “Who has the rest of it?”

“That remains to be seen, but seriously Tina, get a fucking move on here.”

More tapping. “Done. You want me to just list this number as the contact info or what?”

Gavin considered it. “Nah. Just text Connor should anything come up. He’s looking for 900 anyway. “

“Roger.” _tap-tap-tap_ “ Good luck, man. And you -uh- you stay safe now, yeah?”

“No promises.”

Tina laughed and Gavin hung up on her. He tossed the phone onto his pile of torn up clothing and forced himself to stand and get dressed. He felt just a bit more human for it, the soft fabric a welcome respite for his complaining skin. Cold water from the sink took some of the burn out of his bruised eyes. But no amount of combing his hair down with wet fingers or scrubbing could make him look less a hot mess. He scratched at the stubble on his face, pinched the bags under his eyes. There was no salvaging this.

“This is why no one will date you,” he mumbled at his reflection, “You’re a fucking disaster.”

Before he could tear into himself further, though, the burner chirped loudly in little pulses of three. Tiffany’s number flashed across the screen. Gavin scrambled to answer it.

“Hey, Tiff-”

“What did Lucas and I ask you to cut from your speech at our wedding?”

Gavin blinked at his reflection then turned around to lean against the counter and stare at the floor. “What-”

“Answer the fucking question, Gavin.” Tiffany bit.

Gavin wracked his brain, “Was it the thing about how you didn’t speak to him for a week because he used his bonus on your ring? Or the crack about your sister? I can’t remember. It was one of those though. I think.”

There was a sigh of relief at the other end. “Okay good. It is you. Knew something was up with that call. You haven’t called me Tiffany since college.”

“What?” Gavin felt his heart sinking.

“I just got off the phone. With you. Calling from your normal number.” Tiffany explained with increasing annoyance. “What kind of horror movie bullshit have you dragged me into, Gavin? Because I don’t fucking like it. We all know girls like me are like the third to die in those scenarios.”

Gavin swallowed hard. “What did he want?”

“No, no. Fuck you. You tell me what the fresh hell is going on first.”

Her anger stung him. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “An android I’m investigating got his hands on my phone. Best guess is he imitated my voice to try and get information out of you. Now, please. Tiff. What did he ask you?”

“Androids can do that? Imitate voices? God, that’s a thing I could have gone the rest of my life not knowing.” She let out a breath, “He asked me about Connor. If I’d had any contact with him or had seen him because he was missing. Asked if I’d spoken to what’s-his-name uh- Lieutenant Anderson? I think.”

Gavin felt a cold, sludge of dread pooling in his core. “And, uh- what did you tell him?”

“The truth,” Tiffany sounded on the verge of helpless laughter. A part of him felt bad for her. That she’d gotten dragged into all this already and regretted considering being the one to drag her in himself. “That I hadn’t seen or heard anything from either. That Anderson was recovering at the hospital and Connor was supposed to visit but I wouldn’t know until I went in today.”

“Okay, okay.” Gavin hastily cobbled together something that sort of looked like a plan. “Here’s what I need you to do: if he calls you back, don’t answer. Just let it ring and then call me. If someone that looks like Connor shows up at the hospital, don’t talk to him. Even if he asks for you, okay? Just let me know and I’ll take care of it. And keep an eye out for someone named Richard Perkins. He kinda looks like a ferret in a trench coat. He’s a fed and acts like he’s better than you just because he’s not local. If he shows up at the hospital-”

“Call you?”

“Yeah. And try to stall him as long as you can. Talk to him. Ask him questions. Just keep him there so I have time to get to you.”

Tiffany made a thoughtful sound. “That sounds awfully obstructive, Gavin. And not very legal.”

“It’s not illegal to have a conversation.”

“ _Gavin._ ”

“Who’s the cop here?” Gavin shot back. Though he knew the legality of all this was dubious even on his best day. “Just do me a solid here, okay?”

She huffed, “Fine, but can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” The pool of his dread deepened.

“Why are you doing this?” her question was gentle but immediately followed with a jarringly sharp, “And don’t you fucking say it’s a work thing. We both know it isn’t.”

Gavin winced. “I just- I just do, alright?” He was winding up.

“Not good enough.”

“Too fuckin’ bad, Tiff. That’s all I’ve got. I have to do this.” Tighter.

“But _why?_ Who’s making you? Fowler?”

“No.” Tighter.

“Anderson?”

“ _No._ ” Tighter.

“Connor-”

Something snapped. “ _No. I’m doing it because I -_ I don’t fucking know why. I just- I need to do this. I’ve r- I have to do this.”

“You cut yourself off.”

“Not now, Tiff, please.” Gavin pleaded.

But she wasn’t backing down. “No. Fuck you. You wanna involve me in this and fuck around, you’re gonna tell me why.”

“I need to. I-” He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut against the stinging welling up in his eyes and sinuses. “I’ve already fucked up hard. I might have ruined my life. I- I gotta take someone down with me. Why not CyberLife?”

The silence was enough to tell Gavin she didn’t believe him.

He set his jaw and tried to center himself. “I’ve… I’ve wracked up a lot of debts, Tiff. I gotta start paying them off or I’ll go bankrupt. And then what makes me better than them?”

“Do you have to be?” Tiffany asked, soft and gentle. Like when she was trying to pull Jade out of a fit. “Is it worth the price of your safety?”

He thought of Lucas and the memory cut him deeper than anything Ralph had done

“Yeah,” Gavin winced against the crack in his voice, “Yeah. They- I can’t be- phck, Tiff, I- I might not get another shot at this and I don’t want to make the same bad choice twice.”

There was a long, tense silence. Gavin heard her back door swing open and shut through the speaker. The dull, rhythmic thud of her dryer. “If it all goes south,” her voice was barely more than a whisper and Gavin had to strain a little to hear her. “You can crash on my couch. You know that right? You’ve got somewhere to go.”

Gavin took a deep breath, “Yeah. I know. Thanks, Tiff.”

“You sound awful.”

“I know.”

“I worry about you.”

He swallowed thickly, determined not to sniff the congestion out of his nose until he’d hung up. “Tell Jadey I said hi.”

Tiffany didn’t chastise him for the change of subject. “She’ll be thrilled.”

“I have to go.”

“Yeah. Take care of yourself, Gav. Good luck with… whatever this is.” She hesitated a second, but tacked on, “We love you.”

Gavin bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, “Love you too.” And hung up. He dropped the phone on the counter with a clatter and buried his face in his hands.

What _was_ he doing? They were no match for CyberLife. Three people and a bunch of rogue androids up against an indestructible megacorp allied with the feds? They were asking to be eaten alive. In a way, that process had started. Between Connor being off the grid and Anderson being in the hospital and Gavin-

Gavin wasn’t sure where he was. What he was angling for. Sure, a part of him desperately wanted to put CyberLife in its place. Was tired of businesses thinking they could dictate the law for the right price and being right about it. Was tired of watching innocent people be lied to and guilty people painted kindly. Of pretending things didn’t happen because they were bad for narratives.

Silence was an expensive commodity nowadays and he didn’t have the money or the time to pay for it anymore.

He didn’t have the energy to unpack this massive piece of philosophical luggage placed at his feet. Perhaps later, when he had another midnight coffee run with Connor. Or a late night if he got plopped on Tiffany’s couch between jobs. But not now.

Now he had to come up with something to tell the androids. A plan of some kind. Something they could do while they waited on Connor to do what he did best in regards to his mission. Gavin tackled the issue the same way he might a long-running case. What was priority, what could they do now, how could he prevent being stuck waiting around for something to happen. His options were limited, but he had them, especially if the androids here were willing to cooperate with him.

With a plan in mind and a direction to go in, Gavin felt a little more grounded. He gathered his things into a little folded stack and left them on the edge of the counter. He shoved the burner into pocket of his hoodie and stepped out.

In the master suite the tall android that had arrived with them was blocking the doorway, staring him down. How long had he been standing there? Had he overheard Gavin’s calls? That was a terrifying prospect. Gavin took an instinctive step back when he saw Luther but didn’t outright flee.

“You’re going after Perkins.” Luther said, not really a question, and confirmation that he had been eavesdropping, and thus Gavin didn’t know how else to respond but to nod. “Is this him?”  Luther held up his hand, palm out. A picture flickered to life in the space between Luther’s fingertips and the heel of his hand. In it was Richard Perkins, photographed from below, wearing a trench coat with the collar pulled high and looking slightly away, but still clearly him.

“Yeah, that’s him.” Gavin nodded, “Er- why?”

“He led the raid on Jericho.” Luther said darkly, as if that was answer enough. And, to Gavin, it was.

Gavin didn’t question it.

“What do you plan to do with him? When you find him?”

Gavin shrugged. “He has answers to some questions I have,” he admitted, “but I hadn’t planned beyond that.”

Disapproval flickered across Luther’s face. A look just familiar enough to Gavin for him to catch it. “I’m going to help you,” he said. Not a request, just a statement that brokered no arguments.

“Works for me,” Gavin mustered up what little enthusiasm he still had. He needed allies right now and checking the teeth of gift horses did him no favors. Luther’s intimidating size could work to their advantage, after all. Perkins didn’t seem the type to just roll over for anyone. If Gavin wanted cooperation, he’d need leverage.

That conclusion led to a string of ideas that sharpened to clarity as he followed Luther back downstairs. In the dining room, North and Simon were standing and having some sort of argument about what to do. Gavin only caught bits and pieces of it from the balcony and foyer before they noticed him, but they seemed to agree that action should be taken and any hesitation on Simon's part wasn’t his own.

Before he could weasel himself into their conversation, he was stopped by a hand on his elbow. Jerry gave him a once-over and offered him a large black mug with steam wafting from the top. “You look a little better,” he said brightly, “here. I thought you’d need it.”

"Er- thanks?" Gavin said, taken a little aback by such an openly kind gesture. He took the mug and brought it to his nose. Coffee. Expensive stuff too, that lingered on the air. He took a tentative sip, burning his tongue a little. Strong, perhaps a little too strong. Silken and it left a film of pleasant bitterness on his tongue. It was the kind of stuff that cost more than Gavin’s entire wardrobe and was probably hand picked in some remote region of Central America. Meant to be sipped and savored.

“There’s sugar and-” Jerry started to say, but stopped short, eyes widening in horror as Gavin slowly, methodically, drained a little over three quarters of the mug in a single pass. Jerry blinked at him, “That… cannot be good for your heart. Or your nerves.”

He was right. Gavin could feel his heart rate picking up and his limbs wanting to move to let out all this new excess energy, but he held himself in check. He’d regret all this tomorrow, but that was just another problem for Future Gavin. Present-Gavin just gave Jerry a lopsided, crazed little grin and said, “It’s fine. I wasn’t planning to live all that long anyway.”

Jerry started to protest, but Gavin was already headed toward Simon. “Hey,” he said before either of them had a chance to acknowledge him. “You guys still have that bomb van?”

North answered first, “Yeah. We haven’t had time to hose it out and return it.”

“I need it.”

They blinked at him.

“What?” Sure, the van was probably still hot and if he was caught with it he’d be in water hot enough to boil him alive, but this was his best option. “I need transportation and I’m giving you the opportunity to ditch a stolen vehicle.”

“I don’t-” Simon started to say, shaking his head. “It’s full of blood.”

“That's perfect." More blinking. "Look, when I leave here,” Gavin explained, “I’ve got shit to do. Connor’s on a mission and I promised I’d help him. I want to get Perkins off the field and see what I can’t pry out of him.”

A grin spread across North’s face, “And you want to scare him into talking with the van.”

Gavin snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

Simon’s look of horror was almost comical.

“What?” Gavin laughed, “I need to convince Perkins to cooperate. Maybe put the fear of God into him a little. Van full of blood can do that to a guy.”

The androids all started talking over each other until Simon held up his hand in a demand for silence. “Enough. Enough- Mr. Reed-”

“Detective,” Gavin corrected.

“Detective Reed,” Simon turned to look at him. “What exactly do you plan on doing to this Perkins character?”

Gavin pretended to think about it. “Whatever’s necessary. I need some questions answered and some suspicions confirmed. And we need to keep him out of the way while Connor does his thing.” He glanced at Luther, “I hear you all have some beef with this guy anyway. Maybe we can do a trade off? You help me, you get some revenge for his raid on Jericho.”

“I’m in,” North said.

“You’re _what_?” Simon tried to step between her and Gavin, “North you know what Markus-”

“Markus isn’t here, Simon. And this needs to be dealt with. Now.”

Again, they started talking over each other, until the sound of the door opening brought the whole room to a hush. A gentle voice beyond the sliding doors to the foyer chirped, _Welcome home, Markus_. No one moved. No one said a word as footsteps drew closer.

Markus was exactly what Gavin had expected him to be. A larger-than-life sort of figure attempting to seem small and humble. There was something off about him in person though. Something Gavin couldn’t quite put his finger on. Like a vacuum of sorts that tugged at him, tried to reel him in by sheer force of charisma. He’d seen this sort of thing in people -humans- before. But never imagined it could be replicated in an android. No wonder Markus had won over so many people so quickly. He seemed to be made for that purpose.

“Who are you?” his voice was gentler, lighter, than Gavin was expecting.

Gavin took a sip of what was left of his coffee and went with the old standby, “Detective Reed. Detroit Police Department. I work homicide.”

Markus’s neutral expression soured quickly, “And what are you doing here?”

Gavin didn’t let himself be cowed by the change in mood, but it was a struggle, “Immolating what’s left of my career.”

Markus wasn’t amused.


End file.
